Can't wake up with coffee, but with the people you rise
Inside the city, tented by a lamp shade
Keeping its members alive and warm and well kept, because anything less than a strict mothers approval in her kitchen isn't okay
Can't sleep with solace, but with the sinners you dream
Along your eye lids hills have been drawn
This village is the bulb, it's incandescent drips of morning have a submissive tone
Can't walk with unmarked hands, but with the pious you fight
