There is a temperate zone in the mind, between luxurious indolence and exacting work; and it is to this region, just between laziness and labor, that summer reading belongs.
Henry Ward Beecher
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Life Like Weeds
And in this life like weeds, you're just a rock to me
I could have told you all that I love you
And in the places you go, you'll see the place where you're from
I could have told you all that I love you
And in the faces you meet, you'll see the place where you'll die
I could have told you all that I love you
And on the day that you die, you'll see the people you'd met
I could have told you all that I love you
And in the faces you see, you'll see just who you've been
I wish I could have told you all
In this life like weeds, eyes need us to see
Hearts need us to bleed, in this life like weeds
You're a rock to me
I know where you're from, but where do you belong?
In this life like weeds, you're the dirt I'll breath
In this life like weeds, you're a rock to me
All this talkin' all the time and the air fills up, up, up
Until there's nothin' left to breathe
And you think you feel most everything
And we know that our hearts are just made out of strings
To be pulled, strings to be pulled
So you think you've figured out everything
But we know that our minds are just made out of strings
To be pulled, strings to be pulled
All this talkin' all the time and the air fills up, up, up
Until there's nothing left to breathe
Up until there's nothin' left to speak.
Up until the better parts of space