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Near a little garden flowers wild grasses |
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A body's in the casket |
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Milk is in the carton |
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Coffee's on the brew |
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And cars quietly pass |
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As people hear from last respects |
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Collective view |
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The face of the deceased |
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All emptied of emotion |
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Waiting for distortions |
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Of it's perfect features |
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In a little clearing |
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Where they'll put the coffin |
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And then shuffle off |
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And afternoon is nearing |
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You were once alive, body |
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Then you died |
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And I'll sing your name with my instrument |
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But one day it will leave my hand |
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I'm skipping like a stone |
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Just a couple skips then gone |
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To the bottom of a pond |
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Where sun can never go |
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And resting at the bottom |
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Who knows what I'll find there |
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No one can divine where |
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Friends go when we've lost them |
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The movie on the plane home |
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Said, "Life is for the living" |
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As I sat slowly living |
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Paralysed with boredom |
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Flying through the thin air |
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Skimming over cities |
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And isn't it a pity |
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That we can't grow old there? |
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Doesn't it feel strange |
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To wait on this change? |
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Well, the pilot tips his instruments knowing |
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One day they will rust upon land |
