Is this too far removed from nature?
Is nature far removed from what is really there?
I fold a crease across your landscape
Now it cannot be rolled
You derive your distance from an ancient trick
Quickly described
Like a thin, limp bough soft behind the rain
And far out past cement-flecked glass
Like ripped vision, excitement of the mind
Setting the heart aquiver
Almost making the body flake
I speak to myself and the flora creeps in
But later it's fought for, smothered indoors
Muffled again by cloth and underpinned by mould
And cracked like the paint that trims it
Artificial, stinking snowflake uncomfortably rucked
To clear or to clog?
The sharp but distant tang of wet brambles
Eating into your presence with soft, black teeth
What did you hope to learn? Modernity?
Naevus - The Steep Face Lyrics
Naevus - The Steep Face Lyrics
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Is this too far removed from nature?
Is nature far removed from what is really there?
I fold a crease across your landscape
Now it cannot be rolled
You derive your distance from an ancient trick
Quickly described
Like a thin, limp bough soft behind the rain
And far out past cement-flecked glass
Like ripped vision, excitement of the mind
Setting the heart aquiver
Almost making the body flake
I speak to myself and the flora creeps in
But later it's fought for, smothered indoors
Muffled again by cloth and underpinned by mould
And cracked like the paint that trims it
Artificial, stinking snowflake uncomfortably rucked
To clear or to clog?
The sharp but distant tang of wet brambles
Eating into your presence with soft, black teeth
What did you hope to learn? Modernity?
Is nature far removed from what is really there?
I fold a crease across your landscape
Now it cannot be rolled
You derive your distance from an ancient trick
Quickly described
Like a thin, limp bough soft behind the rain
And far out past cement-flecked glass
Like ripped vision, excitement of the mind
Setting the heart aquiver
Almost making the body flake
I speak to myself and the flora creeps in
But later it's fought for, smothered indoors
Muffled again by cloth and underpinned by mould
And cracked like the paint that trims it
Artificial, stinking snowflake uncomfortably rucked
To clear or to clog?
The sharp but distant tang of wet brambles
Eating into your presence with soft, black teeth
What did you hope to learn? Modernity?
Writer: Lloyd James
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid