Bored Nothing
Bored Nothing
Bored Nothing
Bored Nothing
Bored Nothing
Bored Nothing
Bored Nothing
Bored Nothing
Bored Nothing
Bored Nothing
Bored Nothing
Bored Nothing
Bored Nothing
Bored Nothing
These trees that creak in time
My hands on copper line
I seal the cap with clay
Race the fading day
This is the last jar
They say it won't be long
I can hear the engines rumble
I guess that when they come
They're expecting me to run
This is the last jar