three circles on an iron course to set us free.
so line them up and lock the door if you please,
because no one leaves on a winter’s day.
yeah they don’t grieve for dead snowflakes,
and you’re the only shining face i see.
though my walls hold their canvased frames,
that paint is long dry.
and my song hold their faded names much too high.
but i burned my boats and i left the sea,
and i found my home far from the east,
in the desert’s only tree.
where i found an acorn in an hourglass,
made love to each grain of sand.
and now i’ve giving my childhood to the seed,
to see virgin roots grow from traveled feet still sprout.
yeah they still sprout.
so let your legs grow tangled on until they’re down deep,
where drops of rain start crawling up between the leaves.
then we’re endless our feet in clay,
so spin the bottle and forget the days,
we’ll hide like run-aways for years.
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