The Trees Were Mistaken

This is a story, some kind of a story
This is a story about about a boy and girl
A girl and a boy, a boy

( ), only fighting
That some boy in the dark while he learned to evolve
Inverted crystal mountain kind of a story

This is a story
Man, about the serifs and ciphers that the scholars deciphered
Translations of Sanskrit
Just as my handwritten story
This is a story

Where the singers begin to appear
In the spaces between all the dashes and braces
In the mothbitten story of getting left behind
This is a story

Some kind of a story

With the pages distressed sins you held to your chest
They were mangled and dog eared
While the rest were just mangy and gory

This is a story about the memory of water
Translating the sound of the traffic
Remember the traffic
It's making you carsick all along Southfield Freeway

And translating mistakes and the trees were mistaken
And the trees for the woods and the sound of the trash
For the sound of the blowing leaves along the Southfield Freeway

My name is a blackbird, this is a two tone
Feathers are warm in molasses
Twisting the words from the solids to gases
Now I don't have worry (of making it)
It's so unclear

Am I dead or am I dying
Or am I simply tired of crying

My name is a blackbird, this is a two tone
Feathers are warm in molasses
Twisting the words from the solids to gases
Now I don't have worry (of making it)
It's so unclear

Am I dead or am I dying
Or am I simply tired of crying

My name is a blackbird