This is Flood by the Acorn.

You lift your head from wild and wicked sleeve,

her seven-headed serpents hits soliloquies

While picking snails from the river of the valley

Don't see the storm clouds piling up so quietly The rushing river rattles snakes your legs

And maybe boys got you drinking from the dead

You lick your lips and paddle for the levee

The sinking banks are sifting through your tea

As you float up see the river skins the valley

and strips the sleeping sediment of memory I'm I'm I'm

I'm

I'm

I'm You lift your head from wild and wicked sleep

The wither rivers

Buttered rivers

Buttered at your feet

And all around

The sound is slow and muddy

The sunlight's Gatted pennies for the leaves

As you wake up to see the river skins the valley

You'd love to watch this summer from your memory.

You have to watch this summer from your memory. The

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