Friday, December 4, 2009

Lyrics: Leaf

His infirmity was a lack of knowing is own ground
He held his compassion in his heart above his crown
In his hour of silence he would listen for the sound
Held his ear to the dirt and heard the world go round

His conversation was a puzzle, each word a piece to hold
The wind around him seemed to bristle, life would seep out of it's cold
A man to humble his own will to ages past but never told
In his prime his sigh was one of old

Sand remains all on his vest, his passion on his coat
His weeping walls of wood are complementary to his home
In every cabinet drawer are notes he'd never get to hold
In his prime his sigh was one of old

I see him under lined walls of art on every day
The wind holds to his face, he hasn't got too much to say
He says to the Earth, "Don't waste your arrows on this day,
I've seen the answer to to this sight in black and grey."

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