With the fowl out of season and plumage too rough

All of you lost to Labor Day is coming to the cuff

I'll be tampering with foothills, bring on the smoke

'Cause there'll be hoops to jump through anyways

Empty rooms and bed of leaves

No hushing can be heard through cloud-wards

But in truth Shasta gravitates

Through the devastating stuff

Gravitates

Gravitates

Born uncalibrated, magnetic north

Never split, just different, never backward and forth

Gob-ridden victims squarely retract

To the roof of the Polaroid

To the line electrified track

To the roof of the Polaroid

To the line electrified track