Through the roots of a half dead tree
After listening off beat songs I was really very sick
If I was told by someone before time
The zenith was really the bottom of a pit
I would take a run and come down very fast
And with delight on the plain surface I would sit
In reality I never went to anywhere
Yet the pick is not there where once it had been
Slowly and slowly the depth breaks away
And a great erosion of height has been seen.
To make away space for ordinary and mundane
Through the roots of a half dead tree
After listening off beat songs I was really very sick
If I was told by someone before time
The zenith was really the bottom of a pit
I would take a run and come down very fast
And with delight on the plain surface I would sit
In reality I never went to anywhere
Yet the pick is not there where once it had been
Slowly and slowly the depth breaks away
And a great erosion of height has been seen
To make away space for the ordinary and mundane