When the spring is on its way

The compulsory things will always happen

I will never know the math behind the atmosphere, oh

When the spring is deathly dry, the queen annes lace is suffering for water

I will never know to turn the drops into a flower, oh

And a decision’s on its way, my motion circles over knowing just what is true

I'll pour a little water into the cuts, they need it, they need it, ooh

I drag along my broken glass fingers across the mist over the window, keep the light on for me

Well, pour a little salt into the cuts, locate and speak what you know