Burning Of Rome Ballad Of An Onion Sprout
O lovely don’t
Lovely don’t think your so cleaver
Wrapped up in hopeless endeavors
Ready to pout
Onion your ready to sprout
The money don’t
It don’t make anything better
Shrinks your soul just like wet leather
Stuck to a cow
And when your luck comes about
You can roll
The annuls
Of all time
From a scroll
To a bold
Ball of twine
Throw it up
To the sun
Watch it ignite
O Hopi gal
Don’t rely on that dream catcher
To filter out with it's feathers
All of your doubt
When that white man comes about
Your heart will grow
Larger than the Eiffel tower
Pumping blood of Paris flowers
Into the town
Of those non-natives you found
To be cold
With their old
State of mind
You must buy
Or be sold
To their lie
Grab your gun
Little girl
And make things right
Consummate yourself and shake the reigns
Down the bridal path to a safe place
I will meet you there dying in grace
Soak up all the tears off of your face
And watch you disappear without a trace
