Idlehands - Dena Mora

Dena Mora.
Our pace is grueling on the trail, where we learned how to deal.
Dena Mora.
There in Montana, our new brothers brought our bail.
Dena Mora.
Stuck in the Silver Dollar Inn.
Rest and repose.
Behold, slaves without drivers.
Did the womb shape us despite her desire for a civil son?
Well, our friends have to know that the road is where we'll go.
You taught me to see what I need.
I raised me, to avoid a clear being.
Well, my family has to know that the road is where I'll go.
Tune to the channel that we wrote collective in gold.
Just like our overcharged credit cards.
Carefully plan to ingest and demand what we do, In the end, we race for all of you.
Perfectly placed pride.
Another homicide, times five.
We'll replace the gods of DIY.
Can you smell the pour of highway grief?
Leaving all zeal next to faith and belief.
Repeatedly rewind.
Review our very lives on the mountainside.
We'll replace the gods of DIY!
Is this simply a choice of left or wrong?
We have no dig, this is where we belong.
Tune to the channel that we wrote collective in gold.
Just like our overcharged credit cards.
Carefully plan to ingest and demand what we do, In the end, we race for all of you.