Ish the Stomach - We Don't Fall (feat. Will Brown)

There's a widow in the nursery despite the lack of evidence
He tries to find a reason when she speaks without pretense
A prayer for every tear, and struggles to make rent
Spider webs thread his hair a rats nest unkempt
Pulls his sweat stained cap wipes brow keeps working
The dirt he shovels now is wet with blood salt and flirting
Not a single seed will sprout from this once fertile soil
When the autumn comes there will be no harvest toil
Oil smothered skin, bruise covered fruit
Keep reminding him he was blinded by the truth
He's bent to one knee, she decided to repent
He whispered audibly, "everything makes sense"

We don't fall, we never hit the ground
We are flying, no reason to come down

She sips resentment, chased with a glass of wine
Stumbled through the park he finds a bench and reclines
He would take his boots off, but he's certain they'd be stolen
The winter hasn't hit but both his hands are frozen
Frost held at bay by a potion in a bottle
If you ask him where he's going says he's better off tomorrow
She tries not to think of him, the memory makes her sore
She forgives him for the shaming and his appetite for more
War drums in her chest proclaim its more than evident
The battles he was fighting were no longer relevant
She fortified blockades, to mount a strong defense
He was outside her walls screaming "everything makes sense"

We don't fall, we never hit the ground
We are flying, no reason to come down

He asked about the blood, she would laugh and change the subject
They will never be undone, stardust is their substance
A motivating mantra digging nails into her walls
Groping for a foothold, her scales start to crawl
She feels his approach, in the hairs behind her neck
Standing to attention, she perceives it as a threat
Assuming his intentions, her contingency is ready
She chokes up on her hammer thinking maybe it's too heavy
A knife between his teeth, his climb is near the end
He's come to cut the cord, they'd be better off as friends
She sees the whites of his eyes, swings her version of events
His grip is finally broken, "everything makes sense"

Written by:
Ishmael Antar

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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