The color of a match is old in stone
It's the marker of an unreadable world
It is the color of a man stuck in his grave
And the mood of his mood that he has painted on
His face is painted on with pools of clay
And the blood of an animal run astray
He is the color of a man who plays in the sport
And the wisdom of his words are simply taken on
All of thevariants of possesion
All of the بهINGEM
He covers me with ash and falls asleep
And whispering the words that he felt



Has grown to love
Words can have a way
To pull the string
Grunting out the yes and the yes
And then the oh
It's simpler when I think about
Being no more
Than one of these
Many trophies
To live like a man
Who craves the cold
To be the one that has
To ask for everything
Stone men stand as if
They own the place
The power that they lack
It has been painted on
Worshipping them is the only way
Creating life from ash
That brings the every pore
To the surface of the earth

It's colouring the man
With what he's known
The colour isn't there
Just like the nananoo
Nananoo
Nananoo
I feel the weakness out his way
She walks, she waves
In the rhythm of his hips
As he pretends to know
And the heaviest set of steps
That storm away
Such that it's the colour of
A man's life








But if I tell him
To stop
Then I will
To return to Dunham

If I find him
And I believe
Lost in the world
Thinking he will

If I find him