We share a culture same vernacular
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Love of physical humor and time spent alone
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You with your penchant for spontaneous advents
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For sticky and raspy, unearthed and then gone
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You are a gift renaissance with a wink
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With tendencies for conversations that raise bars
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You are a sage who is fueled by compassion
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Comes to nooks and crannies as balm for all scars
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You make the knees of my bees weak, tremble and buckle
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You make the knees of my bees weak
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You are a spirit that knows of no limit
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That knows of no ceiling who baulks at dead-ends
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You are a wordsmith who cares for his brothers
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Not seduced by illusion or fair-weather friends
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You make the knees of my bees weak, tremble and buckle
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You make the knees of my bees weak
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You are a vision who lives by the signals of
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Stomach and intuition as your guide
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You are a sliver of god on a platter
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Who walks what he talks and who cops when he's lied
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You make the knees of my bees weak, tremble and buckle
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You make the knees of my bees weak
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You make the knees of my bees weak, tremble and buckle
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You make the knees of my bees weak
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You make the knees of my bees weak, tremble and buckle
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You make the knees of my bees weak
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