Sod Within the Hill

Were it not for your nervous nature you would'be become
icon you would've become an image healing wounds with
words you tell me these are the hymns that free me
when I am enslaved you tell me you've written your
stories about anyone but me tell me the fable again
about when the bell rings and the angel gets his wings
or the sod in the mound it's amazing again how you
could lie and I would swear it the truth and it's your
turn so spit the words out of your mouth into my hands
tell me the fable again about when the bell rings and
the angel gets his wings or the sod in the mound
stories of the quiet moments before each storm long
tall tale your getting used to disguising the truth
now there's a cold that comes from the distance that's
like the waiting for the grass to grow or my rival in
this bloody battle a war of holding out and dying all
my friends say this riddle may be the answer your
stories the riddles set sail fables your long tall
tale I wish I could follow long with you spit the
words out of your mouth
tell a lie make it come true.