We are lemons
Doomed to start at the endin
With goodbyes keep pretendin
We'll share our last breath
We keep our weed in the kitchen
By our lame intuition
We'll get high and go sit in
The last summer rain
How could i need one more way to get through to you
We are lemons
In low thread count linen
Where we spend all day dreamin
About a farm
The 1 train preacher
Took us to the beacon
I could hear the organ
All she did was stare
Give it up