Making good makes sense to me

Let's put our mountain in the middle of the stream

A consolation for aired ovations

A soft abrasion on soil and field

And the task of pulling down your crown

Is masked by hills that roll us out of town

A soft abrasion on soil and field

Your two-room country in the hills

I called from Cleveland to run up the bill

And a soft relation from separation

A consolation, let's call it until

I leave this foreign desk rusted to choke

And spin the wheels off the country lined road home

A soft abrasion, I rode it home

And a soft abrasion, separation

Need a consolation, rode it home

Said a soft abrasion, and a separation

Need a consolation, rode it home

Said a soft abrasion, and a separation

Need a consolation, rode it home

Said a soft abrasion, I rode it home

Said a soft abrasion, I rode it home

A soft abrasion, I rode it home