Hill up the road, gathering thoughts never adding the way I want them
Sweet Jesus show me through the Indian paintbrush
Cursed upon me, a mustard seed was good enough for him and good enough to me
Or after all, will I shake my magic 8 ball, it's bubbling
And the brisk walking heartbeat won't tire me, it keeps me strong
Cursed upon me, a mustard seed was good enough for him and its good enough to me
Pillar of salt, shaker of black
Killer of thought, turning my back
Believe you were wrong and...
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