Mantras are falling through ceiling, good morning 
Words that are snatched and weighed under, I’m yawning 
Dollars confusing, they multitude blurring 
The feeling that something’s not right
 [bad word] x2) 
You’ve wallowed all up the things that you found 
Gun in my lap, melody the ones that condescend 
And falls away like a dog from yesterday’s haze 
Say aye, got that light up, this what you found

(Verse 2) 
Seems the grail meets as there greets is where 
Hundreds of stories worth told before open doors 
Close the doors, corners of pages have folded down 
Left around, beginning to fade in the sun
 [bad word] x3)