Native Son - Geographer

i am an apple tree

covered up in your leaves

and no one else can feel my sin

your head’s a burdened cloud

that never lets it out

until the desert cries your name

but now

my hands are the words in your mouth

my fingers are the days that you count

my eyes are the lovers you doubt

fortune’s fools

naked as we are

in the woods

with heaven dropping stars

fortune’s fools

naked as we are

in the woods

with heaven dropping

this weight it feels so cursed

i hear it calling out

over everything but you

and over everyone

i saw the native son

waiting to hear my voice too

but now

my hands are the words in your mouth

my fingers are the days that you count

my eyes are the lovers you doubt

and over everyone

i saw the native son

waiting to hear my voice too