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We share a culture same vernacular Love of physical humor and time spent alone You with your penchant for spontaneous advents For sticky and raspy, unearthed and then gone
You are a gift renaissance with a wink With tendencies for conversations that raise bars You are a sage who is fueled by compassion Comes to nooks and crannies as balm for all scars
You make the knees of my bees weak, tremble and buckle You make the knees of my bees weak
You are a spirit that knows of no limit That knows of no ceiling who baulks at dead-ends You are a wordsmith who cares for his brothers Not seduced by illusion or fair-weather friends
You make the knees of my bees weak, tremble and buckle You make the knees of my bees weak
You are a vision who lives by the signals of Stomach and intuition as your guide You are a sliver of god on a platter Who walks what he talks and who cops when he's lied
You make the knees of my bees weak, tremble and buckle You make the knees of my bees weak You make the knees of my bees weak, tremble and buckle You make the knees of my bees weak You make the knees of my bees weak, tremble and buckle You make the knees of my bees weak
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