The concrete is alive, and singing to my feet,
The shadows wax more poignant than the leaves,
And the tree hears every word from the gossip birds
And shudders as if to turn the earth
With wren and bumblebee.
The shadows wax more poignant than the leaves,
And the tree hears every word from the gossip birds
And shudders as if to turn the earth
With wren and bumblebee.
A seagull stands in a garland of purple
On a patch of drooling rock
Skreaking to all we cannot see
As the green suds swirl around.
As the green suds swirl around.
The people stand around waiting
For something that may or may not be coming.
They look so heartbroken
But cannot say anything.
For something that may or may not be coming.
They look so heartbroken
But cannot say anything.
