one who understands The weight of this moment, the weight of this day You're the only one who understands Here in wondering time, in wondering time, I'm wondering
Bản dịch: Sense Field. Wondering Time.
the fields 'Til old man Smith would call the cops He'd come runnin' down with his shotguns 'Cause we were runnin' down his crops And I reckon he's still wonderin
think About your consequence, your actions don't make lots of sense Brothers use the wicked life 'cause of lack of confidence The devil jacked you for your sense
in the field 'Till old man Smith would call the cops He'd come running out with a shotgun 'Cause we were running down his crops And I reckon he's still wondering
the field 'till old man Smith would call the cops And he'd come running out with a shotgun 'Cause we was running down his crops And I reckon he still wonders
the fields Till old man Smith would call the cops He'd come running out with a shotgun Cause we were running down his crops And I reckon he's still wondering
Connections of Macros-manic animals Caves of sleek stature, once sabbatical Once bring drama I'm bright on harrowing lava Within the Plexus from my anatomical It gets darker A sense
dimension and I scratch my head I waste time thinking about scratching my head And I wonder Do we really hold all power here inside I jump for joy at the thought I jump off cliffs and into Fields
of the century And I knew, that I was gonna to learn again Again, in this less hazy light I saw the fields beyond the fields The fields beyond the fields
dismal universal hiss, the sound of public scorn The brush that sweeps across the spectral fields This landscape is not without a sense of epic wonder
your consequence your actions don't make lots of sense Brothers use the wicked life 'cause of lack of confidence The devil jacked you for your sense
that's true I'm talkin to you Wondering if I'm dissin you and everything you're attached to I'm talkin to you Runnin your mouth, wonderin "yo, who Mos
the fields So old man Smith would call the cops He'd come runnin' out with his shotgun 'Cause we were runnin' down his crops And I reckon he's still wonderin
Macros-manic animals Caves of sleek stature, once sabbatical Once bring drama I?m bright on harrowing lava Within the Plexus from my anatomical It gets darker A sense
