Sit down, and fire away - I always trick you when you're feeling low

When you feel like your flavor has gone the way of a pre-shelled pistachio

I know you're way down, you're fed up with your heavy

your boots are laced with melancholy, and oceans all your own

I do like sugar, tender on the brittle, and sticky when spun
And i know my demeanor can go the way
of a furrow left out in the sun

And i try to keep myself in lilies, and flax seeds
oh what a folly, you're fooling just yourself

sit down and smoke away, i wouldn't knock it til your in them shoes

watch as our subtlety blows away as a blush it gives way to a bruise

see me, we freely make a trade-off,

a dry rot to take the weight off, swapping boots for red shoes

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