Floating Dead Wood

A river with floating dead wood

Winds through a fallow land

In every bend a root grasps at the rotten branches

Trapped until the rain makes the water rise

But heat rises over the roads

Rivers run dry and turn into small brooks

We're on the run

We feel the heat of the ground

Just a hazy shade under a relentless sun

Time leaves scars

Like water slowly grinding at the stones

Time is brutal

Like vultures bite the flesh from dead bones

It has no reason at all to spare us

We should still be grateful, be grateful

As far as the bird flies

Wide thirsty land to the open sea

An occasional whisper in the moonlight

As the brook ripples silver and washes away

All our memories

We're on the run

We feel the heat of the ground

Just a hazy shade under a relentless sun

Time leaves scars

Like water slowly grinding at the stones

Time is brutal

Like vultures bite the flesh from dead bones

It has no reason at all to spare us

But we should still be grateful, be grateful

It allows us to follow them

A small part of the way

Time leaves scars

Like water slowly grinding at the stones

Time is brutal

Like vultures bite the flesh from dead bones

Time leaves scars

Like water slowly grinding at the stones

Time is brutal

Like vultures bite the flesh from dead bones

Flesh from dead bones