Grass Fingers Paroles

ridden ills
their brood die with muddy gills
i know
Grass fingers make it
slow

Well we're all to weak now, to pin our hopes on
Southern tracks,
relentless slopes and
i know
Grass fingers make it slow

We are the rolling
commune of unmade beds
this city green wont hold our legs
i know
Grass
fingers make it slow

Only the fearless [verse one]

assume that i will hide
from you

only the fearless
remain inconspicuous
but they're minutes, just
minutes away from.....