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Come to send, not condescend
Transcendental consequence
Is to transcend where we are
Who are we? Who we are
Trampled moss on your soul
Changes all you're a part
Seen it all, not at all
Can't defend fucked up men
Take me for a ride before we leave
Avalanche falling fast
Driving winds, happenstance
Off the track, in the mud
That's the moss in the aforementioned verse
Just a little time before we leave
Stoplight plays its part
So, I would say you've got a part
What's your part? Who you are
You are who, who you are
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