Mountains of molehills,
a grapevine in my ear.
Spots on the tiger while the townspeople gather to hear,
while the nests in my hands starve for rest.
Sticklers for cheap fun,
you oughta be ashamed to trade in your heirlooms.
For black market all day parades,
for a grand prize a slap in the face for you

Bold faced type covers your text,
it must have been winter.

Still frame, no dice.
Where do you get your evidence?
Move now, stay still,
it takes a luminescent hue.
The wood, the crest that's weaved outside your vest.
Still frame, no dice.

Loons light the skyline while you sleep on concrete with both your eyes open.
I just kept pullin' on both your feet.
Someday together we'll breathe on mountains of molehills.