?


Well, yeast ferments and milk sours,
When it’s out of the fridge for too many hours,
Well, we lament in separate towers,
Never knowing if we’re brave or if we’re cowards,
For they pour cement down this hole of ours,
And we’ll be stuck under stones and flowers,
Will we go alone out on our own,
Oh, darling, that’s what will become of us

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