I come to find myself in a state of incapacity going into the grey
The red birds muttered no words as I passed by them today
A refined bouquet turns into a state of decay
A new foreign plot of land to survey
Well, you come to find out that sometimes it's less of a blast and closer to a whimper
A hidden in plain sight kind of wither and now I'm reaching out my hands to catch a line through my fingers
The devil beats his wife again as I pass by Lake Lucerne heavy breathing