When the crumbling pastries cry
When the daises collide
When the lavender divides and conquers

You will find me
Amongst the flaming embers

For I am not a politician
But someone who follows her pleas

Bidding adieu to me and you
Bidding goodbye to what it could be like

Throaty syrups and palm tree queens
Margaritas and smoke screens

I'll take your scotch over my whiskey
I'll take your crumbling words over the mystery

Satisfaction guaranteed
Hundred percent real cotton
Moreover production

Label, label, label
*** on the beach

Let me be,
let me be,
oh, let me be.

Catastrophe.