Some of these trees have been growing for years;
The leaves on the floor must be five meters deep;
The paths are a labyrinth or even a trap;
Some tides don't turn some things never come back.
Secret recordings were made in the marsh;
I bore a hole in a tree just to see;
Knights dance in molecules, here's Galahad;
They're rising back up, they're rising back up.
(And that the Thames flows beneath the grass...)
Can't you see them floating like black ash?
Can't you feel them crawling down your neck?
Can't you feel them breathing down your neck?
Sea breeze, sea breeze.
Sem comentários:
Enviar um comentário