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Fair to Midland

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Fair to Midland

Quince

You could've been raised in Africa
We lacked in our vigor
Been an X on the calendar
Losing our cool in Antarctica

So I put my coat on you
The breeze was light burgundy
I have an army suited and ready
For you to simply take a bite and steer

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We're more than prepared to fight this unfair
All you need do is tease your taste and steer
Your crimes are not mine or theirs
Weary from the wear you invent

I forget for some time
I've been underground
And dug to the sound of your breath