Something About Swordsmanship by Native
Something About Swordsmanship lyrics
Eleven; folders filled with
paper, green will flood.
Thirteen; coal black nights with
laughter, trusting tongues.
Fifteen; cement ponds and
car rides, paths have crossed.
Nineteen; boxes filled with
IDs, green is lost.
I�ve been, exchanging, thoughts with, a new wind.
(this is, growing. this is, changing)
This basement confides my end of the rope.
Wave at the cancer, it�s hiding in gray smoke.
The red glass spills, and brings forth the ghost.
The gold on this bracelet�s as true as its host.
(the ink on this hand�s as true as its host.
We�re planted, we form together and bloom.
It�s green lives, with shades of blue, resign.
We grow up, and then we change,
and then we�ll explain, and then we�ll change, we die.
Lakes gone dry, basements filled.
Paths gone dark, car rides hault.
Carve the hole, place the box, lids down.
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