Apology (Brownstein/Amarante)

Time is precious, are you ready to proceed?

I have quite the taste for trouble, but no trouble to concede.

Olives pressed make precious oil, and you're pressing on my soul

I have hardly time for peril, but I'm easy to console.

I am sorry for speaking, but I’m not sorry for my voice

I'd be innocent and silent, if I could entertain the choice

Virtues vocalized are nothing, if your actions at odds

You can't call yourself religious only when you need a god.

You've inscribed in me a wisdom, of which we don’t understand.

Your oracular presumption, as presumed corrupts the man.

In our search to find attainment, I'm perpetually refined

The exercise of constant judgment, weighs upon a worried mind

My mind, my worried mind

My mind, my mind

I would gladly take in freedom, if it came without a clause

But the thought of imposition, when presumed includes pause

Should you send me on a voyage, and expel a man to roam

Well I'd find the way back early, for Athens is my home.

My home, it’s my home

My home, home

So if you come to find me guilty, In my quest to learn what’s free

You had better feel certain of your practiced piety.

I shall drink your flask of judgment, should it lawfully be won

The father of philosophy has not the will to run.

To run, yeah to run

To run

Written by Jake Brownstein and Patrick Amarante

Copyright Lazy Egg Records