Groginesz.

What a peace offering would be
If it could fly with me
But you don't tend to see the little parts

Have you ever looked into my eyes
Have you really seen what's there
Have you ever seen my cries
And my futile attempts to release some air
But you haven't because you don't
And the right's my own
Lay down your arms on the butchering board
And I'll show you what it's like to steal my hoard

You, my girl, are a demon of desire
A plant with a mission and a faeirie of fire
You climb more than once to the horizon
And yell the morning's song.