Grow me a garden of this kind of nothing,
Draw me a picture of this kind of fine.
Tell me why I can't sneak back inside
After playing school in the yard until midnight.
You hear me scratch at the window, and turn your head.
We are separate flours.
Together, we'll make bread.
Draw me a picture of this kind of fine.
Tell me why I can't sneak back inside
After playing school in the yard until midnight.
You hear me scratch at the window, and turn your head.
We are separate flours.
Together, we'll make bread.
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