We build the falsest paragons
From apple pie to Wittgenstien
The rotting frames to lean upon
It's all a spiteful lie

GRIND
GRIND, GRIND ALL THE TIME
GRIND, GRIND EVERYDAY
GRIND MY SOUL AWAY

Perhaps the touch is only deep as skin
I'll take the shallowness
But I can't believe you won't let me in
Not with the way you kiss

Sometimes, I'd rather be in the Pines
I'd rather be, but
We dug the holes so we go
Back to the mines