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 its tongue
And the grass with its green And the grass with its green
And the shine with its sheen And the shine with its sheen
And the trains with their tracks And the spines with their backs
And your sway with its slow And the wind with its blow
And your scream with its 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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