Besedila: Sponge. Rotting Pinata. Plowed.

Will I wake up, is it a dream I made up?
No, I guess, it's reality what will change us
Or will we mess up our only chance
To connect with a dream?

Say a prayer for me
I'm buried by the sound
In a world of human wreckage
I'm lost and I'm found and I can't touch the ground

I'm plowed into the sound to see wide open
With a head that's broken
Hang a life on a tragedy, plow me under the ground
That covers the message that is the seed