Red Martina - A Fortunate Mess | Текст песни

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• Red Martina
• A Fortunate Mess

A tale of two brothers and their plodding/plotting careers
One Business
One Distant
Haven't written in years
One day
The young wanderer, while walking with breath
Came across what he deemed
a fine place for some rest.

There were
Lush Trees
The Greenest of Greens
Red fruit cut open with the gleamingest seeds
and he brought back a few to his humble abode
only to return daily to the Pomegranate Grove

One night
after tending his garden with hope
he arrived home to find a messenger with a note
A Strange Visitor
Black hat
Block coat
A letter from his black nap sack latch ope

It read:
Young Brother,
Not to spoil two deaths
I have un-mortgaged an orchard
and rid it of pests

This whole apple fortune
is a fortunate mess
I'll make my way to you
please respond with address

Chorus:
Now listen up kids cause this aint in the text
No amount of reading' gonna make you a chef
With every recipe a story is told
From the toughest uproot to the portable home

So when the day ends
you can rest at the rest
with an old school butcher chart poster for jest

Just to
Break it down
Bring you up and then back
For your succulent tooth and lavish luxury acts


2 -
Two months pass
Summer temp artifice
chilly nights
early morning
digest autumn crisp

You could hear a pin drop
till the clip clops
"Hello Brother"
Dismount
"That a girl"
Slip knot

They embraced
they ate
then strolled
to the place where the round ruby reds were grown
When the exotic jewels hit the elders' lips
the product lives:
see the businessman inside him twitch

Young Brother,
I have learned that an apple's a Cent,
It's tree: a mere machine, and It's Orchard: the mint
But your crop is like none other I've yet seen
lend me a bushel basket in the morn for my leave

They returned
fell asleep and grew dreams
the boilingest hot water
the calmest cool streams
the powerful wind that pounded approval to preen
The younger brother awoke
the older was not seen

Ran out his manor in a huff
with gun
with lantern
illuminating the dusk
At five hundred feet he smelled the smoke pass
fell to the ground
hands filled with ash

So, back to his house at a crawl
no horse tied up
no letter was scrawled
Straw by straw he disassembled his home
to the sweet smell of the burning pomegranate grove.

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