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by The Proods

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Happiness, Is.

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We were born in the salt and snow,
A stones throw, from a stone throw.
Born to wanderlust and coal,
But that rusted junk will never turn.

Just thought you should know.
Just thought you should go.

Back the fire in your heart,
Cause gold is gold is gold is gold is gold,
Worth less than art.
Worthless, then art.

Happiness will never leave,
Stuck dangling, on a string.
You leave it there for years,
Cause the skeletons, yeah the skeletons, yeah that’s a whole lot of fear.

Just though you should know.
Just thought you should go.

So take out your catalogs,
And circle what you want the most.
It seems like you’ve been sleeping long,
Nestled in the words, you spoke.
Broken in the words you choke.

I can’t live with your ghost,
I can’t live with your ghost,
I can’t live in a house without a home,
I can’t make it where you roam.

We were born in the coils of hope,
Broken box, cardboard slope.
We crushed diamonds in the cone,
You sift and sift, I for one will never know.

I will never know.

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