Lambchop. Nothing But A Blur From A Bullet Train. Zeneszám

Wearing a halo of mist
Glowing pink and purple
In the afternoon light
A sprawling from a hub
Gave way to patches of green

The wine colored country
Unfolded as we tumbled
Into our rooms
And our travel kinks
Floated away
As we stroked the sunrise
Stained the lake a hazy pink

With the jade tree green rivers
Or the apple trees
And the thought of wearing our sun screen
And evergreens
Are layered
Like feathers
At your feet

Nothing but a blur from a bullet train
A picturesque
Old teahouse
With a carp pond

As trundled out of the tunnel
As trundled out of the tunnel