It came out of the pile of a song I can’t remember her name to call The first result is false It falls into your lap, you know It doesn’t feel like a door Paint doesn’t go dry, on its own Can’t offer a trial to them all The takeaway is unpaved, but its small Find out the passing phase, the fork is in your fate your fine, There’s no road that doesn’t bind Tug at the soul gaze, until it’s raw. Don’t multiply the walk, the talk; there’s nothing to hide. Walk through the side-gate, The most you’ll do is take out a mine