Anchorage Songtext

In the teeth of past judgment a tree sheds it's brown leaves.
It's the fall and our fickleness retires at nothing.
Your mouth,
all it puts forth is a rough draft and your eyes betray your dirty little mind.
You called it.
You solved it.
A problem for old friends who leave home and come back to find out what's different.
Individuals without anchorage,
stateless,
rootless.