It blends soul with mind with body, never minds yours, sitting next door.
Buried in the backyard, truth fumbles and breaks free.
It's time we struck it rich, take back the way we were.
Here, in the middle of harmony, between the treaties and fears
of mellow bygone years, is the real manner of which I speak.
Hear me again, shallow is my tone, there's no reason to believe.
That after the last bit of treason, I will not break down the weak.
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