| We’ll take a slow walk in the country
|
| Anywhere will do
|
| Just as long as we’re out of the city
|
| Where the forrest turns to field
|
| Over hills about a mile
|
| There’s a church, there’s a room, there’s a pastor
|
| Who tried to map the wild
|
| I got my mind on flourescent beech trees
|
| Keep one eye on the bulls, the colts, the ponies
|
| Wish I could hold time and play it in slow motion
|
| My doubting heart just flickers on…
|
| But sometimes I’ve got devotion
|
| There’s a rhyme for every season
|
| Questioning is a tool and not a reason
|
| I got my mind on flourescent beech trees
|
| Keep one eye on the bulls, the fox, the ponies
|
| Wish I could hold time and play it in slow motion
|
| My doubting heart just flickers on…
|
| But sometimes I’ve got devotion
|
| I got my mind on flourescent beech trees
|
| Keep one eye on the feisty little ponies
|
| Wish I could hold time and play it in slow motion
|
| My doubting heart just flickers on…
|
| But sometimes I’ve got devotion
|
| There ain’t nothing as pretty as a lonely poppy in an overcrowded field
|
| My body ain’t what it used to be but my head is what it is |