The older I get
The taller I feel
So I slouch my shoulders
At ninety degrees
And we are the carpet
They expect to be clean
But they burst in with boots on
And they marched over me
And now I'm striped with red dirt
And so are my dreams
But we're gonna scrub them clean one of these days
There's a broken dish at your feet
If you look closely it resembles me
Don't try to fix me
I'll make your fingers bleed
These 48-year-olds
They're talking to me
They tell me what to do to
To be happy
To make money
To please somebody
Who doesn't love me
They don't love anybody
Do you remember the days
Of diving into the sea
Do you recall tongue to skin was so salty
And now you're covered in brine
You say you'll never grow old
But you will die in the pickle jar
With your sour soul
Oh, Sylvia was talking to me
As we sat at the base of a fig tree
She said, "I'm so hungry I don't know which one to eat"
And as we spoke the fruit shriveled to nothing
These 48-year-olds
They're talking to me
They tell me what to do to
To be happy
To make money
To please somebody
Who doesn't love me
They don't love anybody
What do you know, really?
I wanna learn
Won't you tell me?
How you're gonna help
Help me
How many nights have you missed
An open sky, starlit?
How about the taste of citrus?
I don't know about you, but I need this
These 48-year-olds
They're talking to me
They tell me what to do to
To be happy
To make money
To please somebody
Who doesn't love me
They don't love anybody
Fig Tree Video (MV)
Davia - Fig Tree Lyrics
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The older I get
The taller I feel
So I slouch my shoulders
At ninety degrees
And we are the carpet
They expect to be clean
But they burst in with boots on
And they marched over me
And now I'm striped with red dirt
And so are my dreams
But we're gonna scrub them clean one of these days
There's a broken dish at your feet
If you look closely it resembles me
Don't try to fix me
I'll make your fingers bleed
These 48-year-olds
They're talking to me
They tell me what to do to
To be happy
To make money
To please somebody
Who doesn't love me
They don't love anybody
Do you remember the days
Of diving into the sea
Do you recall tongue to skin was so salty
And now you're covered in brine
You say you'll never grow old
But you will die in the pickle jar
With your sour soul
Oh, Sylvia was talking to me
As we sat at the base of a fig tree
She said, "I'm so hungry I don't know which one to eat"
And as we spoke the fruit shriveled to nothing
These 48-year-olds
They're talking to me
They tell me what to do to
To be happy
To make money
To please somebody
Who doesn't love me
They don't love anybody
What do you know, really?
I wanna learn
Won't you tell me?
How you're gonna help
Help me
How many nights have you missed
An open sky, starlit?
How about the taste of citrus?
I don't know about you, but I need this
These 48-year-olds
They're talking to me
They tell me what to do to
To be happy
To make money
To please somebody
Who doesn't love me
They don't love anybody
The taller I feel
So I slouch my shoulders
At ninety degrees
And we are the carpet
They expect to be clean
But they burst in with boots on
And they marched over me
And now I'm striped with red dirt
And so are my dreams
But we're gonna scrub them clean one of these days
There's a broken dish at your feet
If you look closely it resembles me
Don't try to fix me
I'll make your fingers bleed
These 48-year-olds
They're talking to me
They tell me what to do to
To be happy
To make money
To please somebody
Who doesn't love me
They don't love anybody
Do you remember the days
Of diving into the sea
Do you recall tongue to skin was so salty
And now you're covered in brine
You say you'll never grow old
But you will die in the pickle jar
With your sour soul
Oh, Sylvia was talking to me
As we sat at the base of a fig tree
She said, "I'm so hungry I don't know which one to eat"
And as we spoke the fruit shriveled to nothing
These 48-year-olds
They're talking to me
They tell me what to do to
To be happy
To make money
To please somebody
Who doesn't love me
They don't love anybody
What do you know, really?
I wanna learn
Won't you tell me?
How you're gonna help
Help me
How many nights have you missed
An open sky, starlit?
How about the taste of citrus?
I don't know about you, but I need this
These 48-year-olds
They're talking to me
They tell me what to do to
To be happy
To make money
To please somebody
Who doesn't love me
They don't love anybody
Writer: Davia Pratschner
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid