Born underwater in a month of fire Born into hawthorn and tangled briar A wild card from a hungry pack A number on the front, a pattern on the back Dirt in the furrows, patient and thick Time curls at the turn of a pick And life gathers in the wake of the plow The line offers what the field will allow The Root System stares down Shoots defy and point up Unreeling in an act of spite Oh I had a feeling that they might I had a feeling that they might ♪ The Root System stares down Shoots defy and point up Unreeling in an act of spite Oh I had a feeling that they might I had a feeling that they might Arms like Axes at a great expense Hymns in the pastures, and penitence The sweet glove on the agrarian hand Caving prayers into a chaotic land The Root System stares down Shoots defy and point up Unreeling in an act of spite Oh I had a feeling that they might I had a feeling that they might