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Standing on the edge of the cliff, I start to slip |
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Don't mind if I slide off |
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Now I feel my mood starts to lift, I find my grip |
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And the screaming fades away below |
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I grab myself and spin me around, I start to sprint |
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I climb down to steadier ground |
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If I can bushwhack it on back to the shack behind those hills |
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I'll find the world is finally still |
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Run through pale dark woods to that sugar shack |
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Breathe warm steam and hide in that old sugar shack |
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Boiling heat, maple steam, frozen snow, then it flows |
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When you leave your maple dream wait till spring to go again |
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A mosaic of lies I tried to arrange in ways that shelter the blame |
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I thought I might have made off clear with all of the loot |
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I plucked and ate all the fruit |
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Then I started hearing the yells and shattering plates |
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Drowned out by your slithering stares |
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I was followed and chased and caught and tied up |
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By the hay right until I made my escape |
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Run through pale dark woods to that sugar shack |
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Breathe warm steam and hide in that old sugar shack |
