Lyrics:
The kite-flying types, and the scars of unrest But still we scamper around in the bushes Taking advantage of all of the best hiding places cnd fiercely we search
- I'm wicked, I keep it horrifying Axe murdered some kid and his dad kite-flying I knocked the fuckin' mailman out on the grass And burned holes in
late night gigs transporting heavy equipment, professional kite-flying And as fate would have it, waitressing at ice cream shops It was in a local ice
a kite-flying kind of day Above the trees Together we'll be making memories REPEAT CHORUS As this world turns us around We hang on to what we've found A treasure
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