Trashed Dictaphone Blues
My body shakes
Like a tree
Swirling leaves
From my head
I'm a wandered like my
Father once was too
So
It makes me happy
To hear your singing
Like a swallow
In the sound
Of the deep night of your singing
The root of your sorrow is that boy and it's me
The root of your sorrow is that boy and it's me
I saw a whirlwind shaped knife
In the dream I was the killer
Then the roots grew right up around me
To become the part of a drawing
And walk inside the picture
Through all the silent cities
Oh I was then the boy behind the glass
The root of your sorrow is that boy
And it's me
Like a flight
To my whites
Like a flight
To my wound