I close my eyes and I'm in a new reality
Traditionally
I can smell the seasoning
It's like I'm home again
And the quiet is so still
I can hardly breathe
Getting high from the haze
Filtered through a plastic sieve
Is this a dream?
Or am I busy sorting red beans?
One by one
I can't help myself
But I pick the memories apart
Looking for a remedy
My mother's recipe
And the boiling comes to a still
I can hardly breathe
Getting high from the fumes
Filtered through a plastic sieve
Is this a dream?
Or am I busy sorting red beans? (home)
Is this a dream?
Or am I busy sorting red beans? (home)