We all know that the wind blows and the moon glows and our lungs grow We belong to the floating hand that's made by some animals And we all dance so we can let go and move close and trade lows Like the type of tongue that roots from your breast And it shakes your pretty, little clavicle
A good friend is walking to a homeland, an inside land And to him I said, 'You can leave your eyes at the horizon's dead door 'cause you won't need them anymore'
The children spins dawn in and the morning disappearing They reappeared as a seed of love You know the earth births the vegetables