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Malachite

de Lydia Ainsworth

The red car is the one
The one that goes all on its own
Just pull it back
Watch it race across the floor
I marked a black cross

With the heel of my mother's shoe
I won't tell a soul
Blame it on the man this afternoon
The Internet is dead
The Internet is gone
It can't get you here

Apple blossom don't you fear
I found a stone out on the lawn
Shining black with veins of green
On a hunt for ancient bones
Turned up something strange indeed

At three 3PM sharp
My arms will slowly rise
Best not to fight it
Here's to coming home alive

The Internet is dead
The Internet is gone
It can't get you here
Apple blossom don't you fear

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