It's a greeting day from the morning Sun as the moss grows into light
Caving in the averages of time
It's a beautiful lackadaisical ethic from my barren mind
I'm running out of time

The feelings brought from the distant trumpets
Separate into the pulsing summints
A mind
Covered in this grime

The language brought from the distant trumpets carved into my spine
Don't know to go when they so might