he lifts my lid, he saw all the mountains
stood, i'm good, the hours were countless
water pours right out of my kettle
growing fate from metal not metal
if we're ancient, what is kind?
who sees mountains on the rise?
i was patient, mind's been primed since me, me, me
from me, me, me
lifted your lid, we stood on the mountain
we're good, we should, the reasons were countless
pick the one, no need to pick petals
growing faith that never would settle