At this point in my life.
Feel the need, to harvest
Fields of corn, surround.

My harvest lost, the price of maturity.
But these remains that I've left to rot

resurrected
again and again
again and again
again and again and again

Next generation of children who want to change minds
with the station hand.
But, I'm not the only one who sees, (next generation)
it lies in diversity;
acceptance only to a degree!

The fire that once occupied my eyes
has grown to destroy the world that I have grown.

You have nothing new to scream
beyond these fields
and not a second of patience to learn from then.

But you ressurected
again and again
again and again
again and again and again

again and again
again and again
again and again and again

I harvest the crops of my past.
As far as the demigods are concerned,
I've sold myself out, out just the same.
I've burned bridges to feign brothers.
Nothing, nothing more than a simple label.
Nothing more than a simple.

Here I reside, edge afterall
Prove myself that I still am
But within these fields, the'll say I never was.

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