In Martha's Vineyard
There is no sound
Two hundred years ago
Signer's arms moved to and fro
But there is music
There are sign choirs

In western gardens west
Lies an old canoe of fiberglass
Under the jawbones of a whale
Propped up against the garden rail
And through their pointed archway
Can be seen volcanic hills

Can you feel the footsteps of your fore-bearers?
Underground how would the wind sound?
Do you remember a bird in the muffled box?
Caterpillar doomed on the hill

Earth tones reverberate
Elaborate windy gate

Speak slow speak low
And they'll send you a sign
Speak slow speak low
And they'll send you a sign
Speak slow speak low
And they'll send you a sign
Speak slow speak low
And they'll send you a sign