In distinction between the poles
The garden flowers the mind
Apprehensive to get too close
For the barbs are sharpened and fine
And it seems like the day's light falls prey to the moon
And the markets are flooded with fool's gold
In contradiction to pursuits of the brave
Happiness is not my goal
So what's left in store, the cowards say there is no more
And the brave say it's for the glory of taking what's yours
Sitting neatly on the fence where the grass is always so green
And indecency is just a moral condition
Of a perpetuated primal tradition
Just another addition of what mathematicians theorize
It's called the flow of time
I don't quite understand how it carries me everywhere
But apparently I float
Apparently I float
So what's left in store, the cowards say there is no more
And the brave say it's for the glory of taking what's yours
What I adore contentment I don't have to wish for
In decision between the poles
The garden flowers my mind
And exhalation helps relieve the words
In a meadow of pure sublime
So what's left in store, the cowards say there is no more
And the brave say it's for the glory of taking what's yours
What I adore contentment I don't have to wish for