What About The 37º? - Methyl Ethel

It began with a mistake

A bribe, a pressure release

To drive toward liberty

Cursed into a vague goodbye

You’ve entered the subtlety

Not exact, more deforming

Meanwhile, metamorphosis was unfolding

I’m holding onto anything I find, alright, alright

Sewn it back into the garden

Open your hand, I want to try

Too late to feed us what you harvest

Too tough to cut it with a knife

What about the 37 degrees

We shared between our sheets and beneath our skin?

Our bodies are vessels for poisoning

But I won’t do what I would do to survive, alright, alright

Sewn it back into the garden

Open your hand, I want to try

Too late to feed us what you harvest

Too tough to cut it with a knife

Comin' out, c-c-comin' out

Sewn it back into the garden

Open your hand, I want to try

Too late to feed us what you harvest

Too tough to cut it with a knife

My thoughts have vanished to the room of my design

Collecting all of it awry