Mother Mirth
Robert Pollard
Singing at blossom with flower chains
The towers erected to higher stakes
Tiny drops and greater lakes
All the way through eternal Pennsylvania
It's a trip
It's a wall
It's a Rubik's cube
It's a fall, it's a body
It's a place
On the morning of the aftermath
Our goal was to have everything
On the morning of the aftermath
Our goal was to keep everything
On the morning of the aftermath
Our goal was to have everything
On the morning of the aftermath
Our goal was to keep everything