It’s hard to take she and me seriously cause she and me have died
dead words on paper that were once trees
bind what we left behind.
Why is it so hard to be happy to be satisfied
the leaves will be green I will breathe even after we’ve died.
It’s hard to take history seriously
cause history has died
dead men on the skin of cut down trees
history happens all the time.
I’m not afraid to die I’m afraid of what I’ll leave behind
and if there’s a paradise in the sky
that’s waiting for me when I die
this paradise in the sky over me
needs to be lower so I can reach.