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Young The Giant

In the night where I live,
There's strange force in your kids oh.
All's divine in desire.

With an ire of philosophy,
Burning scrolls in the naked heat,
Oh how coy is your little boy. No!

'Cause I know he don't read that well.
I got buried
No, it won't be long, before I rise in
I got buried
No, it won't be long, yeah

In the night where I live,
Your children sway, they fuel the kitsch.
Raise their glass to Soviet crimes in the war,
And in shadows.

I write, in tongues of old
Fumes of fallen, smell and burn like always, always
Now here!

'Cause I know he don't read that well.
And I know only time will tell, me.
I got buried
No, it won't be long before I rise in
I got buried
No, it won't be long before I rise in song!

And I know he don't read that well! Yeah!
I got buried
No, it won't be long, before I rise in
I got, oh buried, oh no
'Cause I know I got you!