The pines are breaking
The wind takes a heavy toll
On branches frozen
And the worker in the cold

I am my father's son
I am my mother's child
I break my back for you
I give my time

Now the winds are shifting
The rose has virus and in time
We'll dig it from the garden
And throw it on the pyre

For all you own
You won't own this
You won't own up
You won't own me
Splash some water on my face

10 hours in it's okay
Rewind, repeat
This is how it is
The things I say to you
I am really saying to myself

While we're on the subject of taste
It is a faulty trope
When you prefer who plays
In your country home

The palms are wasted
Someone's salted all the fields
Beds are burning from what you've wrought here