Ebben - Braids

See how they go

See the way they rise up

All of my dreams

Up in front of me

Oh I

I could grab them

Shoot them down and stab them

But I murdered them all

All before they fall

It’s a gentle pluck

A pluck not birthed from luck

A slow and steady growth

Filled with ebb and flow

Maybe I’m not the star

Whose light blinds those who saw

The creature from a distance

Impaired and now they’ve missed it

Rise up

Up in front of me

Stab them

All before they fall

From luck

Filled with ebb and flow

Who saw

See they way they rise above

Away

Save them you want to