Mountains of molehills,
A grapevine in my ear
Spots on the tiger while the townspeople gather to hear,
While the nests in my hands starve for rest
Sticklers for cheap fun,
You oughta be ashamed to trade in your heirlooms
For all day black market parades,
For a grand prize a slap in the face for you

Bold faced type covers your text,
It must have been winter

Still frame, no dice
Where do you get your evidence?
Move now, stay still,
It takes a luminescent hue
The wood, the crest that's weaved outside your vest
Still frame, no dice

Loons light the skyline while you sleep on concrete with both your eyes open
I just kept pullin' on both your feet
Someday together we'll breathe on mountains of molehills