Well I never caught your accent
blushing in the meadow
Whilst chewing over the wood turned
hypocrisy of the table.
The regiments colours the globe
Beneath the surface of Infamous sun.
Falling for spooks placed up there
In heavens gate.
Relaying back Bleaching acts of recycled
And if everywhere’s a hotel maybe
This where a Bow was tied to forget
spending the night Painting towns