Glory - The Acorn

Burning rock, in the palm of your hand

Treat this place as you’re won’t to

I will make my land, to comfort you

Arch precision

Pull the ropes with a dry hand

Soaked in scenery

Painted by brushes of hair

I pulled from your head

Don’t make this difficult

I can’t wait for the morning sun

Oh, the morning sun has come and you’re not there

Petals encircling

Newspapers crumbling

Turn the TV off and wait for the writing in the sky

It could be bad, it doesn’t matter

'Cause those words will just melt into the clouds

Don’t be mad, my name was misgiven…

I’ve known glory all my life