The Try (Thank You) The Number Twelve Looks Like You

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Immersion in the wrong sorts
This is my manifesto
[?] tingly hands
Tingly body
Mind sunk deep within
An arbitrary conversation
Looking and seeing and feeling the wrongs
A simplified overcoming of stature and belonging
Nevermore, this overcompensated
Disillusion of downtime and no time of babbling
I will set aside
Overcome (Overcome)

With suds of porter in hand
A mild-mannered genius has come to save me

I seem to rise as morning draws near
Pushing through fields of tracks (Green and alive)
The dew draws close to my
Hung down body, feeling alone

But in the
Comfort of friends

If I drew this close to perfection every moment
I would be the field and I would be the green
A conflict of mind and matter
I would live in harmony beside you
If I drew this close to perfection every moment
I would be the field and I would be the green
But never alone

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