White Spaces

The pines are breaking

The wind takes a heavy toll

On branches frozen

And the worker in the cold

I am my father's son

I am my mother's child

I break my back for you

I give my time

Now the winds are shifting

The rose has virus and in time

We'll dig it from the garden

And throw it on the pyre

For all you own

You won't own this

You won't own up

You won't own me

Splash some water on my face

10 hours in it's okay

Rewind, repeat

This is how it is

The things I say to you

I am really saying to myself

While we're on the subject of taste

It is a faulty trope

When you prefer who plays

In your country home

The palms are wasted

Someone's salted all the fields

Beds are burning from what you've wrought here