Rookery

Birch tree lost its branch one day in violent winter

I said it was grieving, you said, "It don't feel nothing"

I bet you think everything's in its rightful place

That sentiment is man's disgrace

Well the rooks in the trees, they don't half bother me

Clawing at my mind with every given opportunity

It's spring outside, a perilous sky

And that terrible clattering sound

Go ahead you should go shoot them down

That's what you said, "You should go shoot them down"

So hey, that's me

Shooting at a hundred year old rookery, oh, look at me

The definition of futility

That's what they'll say anyway, won't they, babe?

So I'll go back to working through the gentle hours of the evening

Where the weather and the wine and the company treat me easily

Unknowing am I of the wind that took my eye

Unknowing am I of the wind

Unknowing am I of the wind that took my eye

Unknowing am I of the wind