Chorus: If I, if I, oh if I, let my feelings rot, antlers will grow to impale my heart, but my art will grow, to drip some wine, the wise will show, as I reach my prime. If I, if I, oh if I, let my feelings rot, antlers will grow to impale my heart, but my art will grow, to drip some wine, the wise will show, as I reach my prime.
Verse: Perplexing development at a peak of relevance, grabs ahold of your reflection to kidnap a perspective, take one long look at who you became, and then one long look at the repeat you may feel, the clock is on the clock, no time to look at those hands, either you live to be remembered or forgotten in 10, not even a parade every decade would remind them of your stem, or your roots or your seeds or the possessions you left.
Chorus: If I, if I, oh if I, let my feelings rot, antlers will grow to impale my heart, but my art will grow, to drip some wine, the wise will show, as I reach my prime. If I, if I, oh if I, let my feelings rot, antlers will grow to impale my heart, but my art will grow, to drip some wine, the wise will show, as I reach my prime.
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