The Yield

I think I've found a way to go down In my own history Nothing's sacred like my true colors And they're so clear to me But I can't tell when I've trapped a lie The knife is sharpened, the air is dry So hollow out This ripening fruit The shell remains And the stone takes root A season change They slash and they burn To bathe in smoke Is the haze you learn I think I've found a storm underground That shakes beneath the plain So I'll compose in the voice of sunlight And then I'll write as rain I bit into a thought today That all that's here is meant to stay And choked on half a hidden truth That built a floor out of the roof And hollowed out This ripening fruit The shell remains And the stone takes root A season change They slash and they burn To bathe in smoke Is the haze you learn