Spring

The wind is pushing the clouds along Out of sight A power is putting them away A power that moves things neurotically Like a widow with a rosary And everything is awing and tired of praise And mountains don't need my accolades And spring looks bad lately anyway Like death warmed over And the bantam is preening madly Waiting for the light of day And all I want to do Is to make love To you With a careless mind With a careless, careless mind With a careless, careless mind Who care's what's mine? With a careless, careless, careless mind We call it Spring though things are dying Connected to the land like a severed hand And I see our house on a hill On a clear blue morning When I am out walking My eyes are still forming The door I walk through And I see The true Spring is in you The true Spring is in you My wide worlds collide And mind wide words collide And seasons kaleidoscoping And all I want to do All I want to do Is to make love To you In the fertile dirt In the fertile dirt With a careless mind With a careless, careless, careless mind