The Remnant — Indian Summer: The Conclusion lyrics

The page contains the lyrics of the song "Indian Summer: The Conclusion" by The Remnant.

Lyrics

Life is never how you ever planned
So when the weatherman forecasts, and bets his hand
Treat it like a speck of sand
Andre Benjamin said that he was soaking wet
And drop tops, Foxtrot slow your step
Hold your breath
There’s a cobra kept in every man
Shoulder, throat, and neck
So we greet each other by our handles
And sobriquets
The older we get the more we plan what we don’t expect
Sampling another boundary to overstep
So I sit in Starbucks, considering the hard luck
Of souls that are sold at high tolls and markups
This present darkness got Atlanta by the talons
'til the roots get exposed like Jimmy Fallon
We’ll be wiling In search of significance
We don’t always see the same things
But we always try to work through the differences
I stay up past my curfew to finish it
With sweat on my forehead and dirt on my fingertips
Lifes not meant to resemble this
(Art does not imitate)
These bars are the Prison Break for those told to sit and wait
The master-slave give and take, sinner, saint, soldier
We owe so much to this chip on our shoulder
Blink and it’s over
(Life is in the rear view)
So here’s to the few who steer to the clear blue
We make numbers and numerals sound upbeat and musical
It’s fun when we do it, though it’s more ugly than beautiful
When we order ice water, bring us one more round
'Cause it doesn’t cool off when the sun goes down
It’s hotter in the shade and we are not being paid
From the cradle to the grave
Summer Dog Days
When we order ice water, bring us one more round
It doesn’t cool off when the sun goes down
It’s Adan, John, Gray, so let the song play
Summer Dog Days
Forever, Always
Welcome to the dirty Third Coast
AC up to 11, still sweating in my work clothes
Listening to dirt po' church folks
Saying how they stayin' prayed up
Through these layoffs and furloughs
When some reach alert mode, they medicate with herb smoke
Others swig merlot or Wild Irish Turk Rose
My first pose ain’t some upturned nose
I just script first prose to reverse the way the earth goes
Crawling in the pollen in the dandelion grass
Hot enough to light a fire with a magnifying glass
Swing a samurai slash at your panty line
Hitting like cat o’nine lash, and a cannon fire blast
And if a rapper’s gonna last in these Summer Dog Days
He must navigate the block maze, fog haze, shock waves
Give God praise for this entrée from Doc Chey’s
And do the opposite of hip hop’s latest pop craze
Every time, always
(Pause, play, rewind)
Stick to the design, and everything will be fine
Sleep in your free time, we aren’t even done yet
Daytime doesn’t even start 'til the sun sets
After our unrest
(One less day to do it)
The hourglass lays sideways to our music
Last place victors write summer songs for winter
The parched throat patrons professional beginners