There's a kind of languor in the morning
As we breathe and lift our eyes
There's a kind of sound that's forming
It's the sign that we must rise


Take your own bent shackle from the table
Take your own and idle by
We are born to buckle from the cradle
We are born to the morning
When we rise


I was once a troubled young canary
I was once as you are now
And how I struggled just to be contrary
But everything I did was quite allowed


Pull your own shot straight across the bowline
Make yourself all ocean-sized
We are born to stutter in the sunshine
We are born to the morning
When we rise

There's a kind of languor in the morning
As we breathe and lift our eyes
There's a kind of sound that's forming
We are born to the morning when we rise
When we rise