Legs Like Tree Trunks
Anchorage
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.
Aus Songtexte Mania