Harvest

There's nothing that's poetic about a bedsore Stasis is damage I cleaned the bowl of fruit I brought It sat till it turned to food for flies See how they dine on trials awry But later I came over The house smelt heavy You said to me I don't ever wanna be Contest, harvest Let me rot in the field, set the seed I don't ever wanna be Contest, harvest Let the moss, let it grow over me You brought that dog up, could you put it down? You found out Too much to hear so ear gave in Then on the following Sunday the devil rose out But he came back He dresses like a businessman But you were When you were younger Did you find what you were offered? I don't ever wanna be Contest, harvest Let me rot in the field, set the seed I don't ever wanna be Contest, harvest Let me rot in the field, set the seed