Quince

You could've been raised in africa

We lacked in our vigor

Been an "x" on the calendar

Losing our cool in antarctica

So i put my coat on ya

The breeze was light burgundy

I learned to stand in Istanbul

So I send you my Morse code,

Till you capture the syllables.

Subtracting the fees under carried time

Somewhere over the Great Divide

Blacked like a candlestick

You could've been raised in Africa.

We lacked in our vigor, been an "x" on the calendar.

Losing our cool in Antarctica, so I put my coat on 'ya,

the breeze was light burgandy.

I have an army suited and ready for you

to simply take a bite and steer.

We're more than prepared to fight this unfair.

All you need do is tease your taste and steer.

Your crimes are not mine or theirs

Weary from the wear you invent

I forget for some time

I've been underground and dug to the sound of your breath