Tekst:
Matt Pond Pa The Nature Of Maps

Sometimes it comes through In the smallest complications You need to get there soon But you're lost outside of Boston There's no need for proof These

It was the rocks you liked So much you'd throw them Down into the river's darkness Down from where the trains go flying Your legs hung out Into the

under the overpass way out in fairlee they were saying i'm convinced the city has its cards a fuel-less fire will always fade keep your hands warm

In April Pennsylvania waits for the small months to return In a while or pretty soon Or pretty soon or in a while Either way the time's delayed Haven

if you wake Up to the prize Of yourself And all your eyes Then nothing will Be just like this And nothing is About your will The names are sitting

get better All winter The backs of heads make better friends All winter long There is a well of tires Outside South Strafford and Sharon Repeating the nature