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lyrics
A circle of trees surrounds a field of weeds
And a crooked chimney guards
The bones of a Midwest home
Who's burnt frame is a trellis growing
And up climb their vines
Slumped shoulders of giants
Golden violence and peace burnt to a crisp
Smoke haunts the clothes
Abandoned in the chest of drawers
But what's left when the meaning is not?
What's left when the meaning is not?
What's left when the meaning is not?
What's left when the meaning is not?