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If you cut me down I'll rise straight back up again
If you de-branch me I'll regroup before the day is in
Because I don't think you've got the tools to make me dissapear
You can burn down wood but roots remain and I'll always be here
If I see more pylons emerge from out my head
Or if another plane spills shit over the bed
Leaving gas and smoke to meddle with the stars
Hanging there like some fucking death moustache
But I don't think we've got a razor big enough to shave it off our minds
We can trim the edges but the stumps will sprought a different kind of monster

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