When the roots of the tree are as cold as can be
When the wind in the sea are the moth meets the bee
When the rays of the sun lick your skin with it's tongue
And the grass with it's green And the grass with it's green
And the shine with it's sheen And the shine with it's sheen
And the trains with their tracks And the spines with their backs
And your sway with it's slow And the wind with it's blow
And your scream with it's soul I don't play rock n roll
And the people with their lungs And the people with their paws
If the sky were a stone made of lips, made of bones
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