| That pole isn’t growing in my black solid sky
|
| Solid sky
|
| And pirate ships pulled these shoulders back
|
| But in morning slumber I gripped the slender palm of my hand
|
| And I felt the soft of my flesh
|
| And I stared into my sister self
|
| And we was running, running, running
|
| We was climbing, we was fighting
|
| We was breathing fast
|
| Praying please
|
| We were singing
|
| We were dancing
|
| We were clapping
|
| Singing, dancing, clapping
|
| We were returning to the hills
|
| Bringing buckets drawn from the wells
|
| Returning to the hills
|
| Bringing buckets drawn from the wells
|
| But I’ve got to hold my own hand
|
| I’ve got to hold my own hand
|
| And this is my skin I feel
|
| And these are the teeth that I clench
|
| And the hazel of my sight
|
| Plus the colors she wears is mine
|
| O that color she’s wearing is mine
|
| And we was running, running, running
|
| We was climbing, we was fighting
|
| We was breathing fast
|
| Praying please
|
| We were singing
|
| We were dancing
|
| We were clapping
|
| Singing, dancing, clapping
|
| We were returning to the hills
|
| Bringing buckets drawn from the wells
|
| We were returning to the hills
|
| Bringing buckets drawn from the wells |