[Intro — Clean psychedelic guitar / Warm tape saturation / Unhurried, reflective vocal] Where the houses ended the world forgot its lines. Beyond the neatly tended lawns lay wilderness and vine. And somewhere in that quiet where the afternoon grew long, we found a place untouched by time— that sprawled across the line. [Verse I — Warm, melodic stoner rock / Loping bass / Loose, swinging drums] Through the briar and undergrowth we followed paths unknown. A kingdom made of tangled leaves behind the houses we called home. And there among the branches, beneath a canopy of green, hung little constellations of the deepest crimson sheen. We had no thought of ownership, no measure for the land. The world was ours to wander through, with everything at hand. No map to mark the boundaries, no reason to believe that paradise had someone who would ask us all to leave. [Refrain — Open chords / Gentle melodic lift / Reflective rather than anthemic] Oh, the grapes were red, and the afternoons were long. The heated shivers in the shadows made the world feel young. if the sweetness turns to sour, does the fruit deserve the blame? Or does the tongue grow bitter when it learns to give things names? [Instrumental Interlude — Expressive fuzz guitar / Melodic bass counterpoint / Psychedelic delay] [Verse II — Rhythmic tension / Increasing distortion / Drums become more deliberate] A man emerged between the rows, with weather in his face. We never knew the years he'd spent in tending to that place. His hands had known the seasons, his back had borne their weight. Where we had found an Eden, he had labored to create. And then he raised the thunder, and split the summer sky. The echoes tore between the trees and sent us running blind. No lead had found its mark that day, but something nonetheless had wounded all the wonder we had never thought to question. [Instrumental Break — Full fuzz / Descending guitar harmonies / Slow, forceful toms] [Verse III — Darker harmonic movement / More imposing vocal / Restrained bitterness] Now years have made their passage through the cellars of my mind. I've learned the worth of labor and the boundaries men define. See... I know the price of harvest, the patience in the soil. How little things of beauty often grow from years of toil. I understand his anger, though not the means he chose. And I understand the children who saw no further than the rows. Two truths within a memory, neither wholly reconciled. The man who saw his livelihood, and the untamed, thoughtless child. [Refrain II — Heavier, sustained vocal / Broad distorted chords / Emotional restraint giving way] Oh, the grapes were red, though the years have made them sour. I can't name the hands that planted them, but I can count their every hour. if the sweetness turns to bitter, is it wisdom, is it loss? To know the value of the world and what its beauty costs?
