| Oh, I have lived for ages I’m a thousand turns of tides
|
| I’m a thousand wakes of springtime and thousand infant cries
|
| Oh, a thousand infant cries
|
| I got sixteen hundred tigers now tied to silver strings
|
| When they plowed in the pastures, oh the mighty heart will sing
|
| Oh, the mighty heart will sing
|
| But I’ll always be blamed for the sun going down with us all
|
| But I’m the light in the middle of every man’s fall
|
| I bend my arrows now in circles and I shoot around the hill
|
| If I don’t get you in the morning, by the evening I sure will
|
| By the evening I sure will
|
| Because I’m the fire on the mountain you have lit up in your dream
|
| But also water on the fountain you could send myself on me
|
| You could send myself on me
|
| Because I’ll always be blamed for the sun going down with us all
|
| But I’m the light in the middle of every man’s fall
|
| And no I never meant to say these words but yes you ought to know
|
| That the dark in what I’ve always been, it will not ever go
|
| No it will not ever go
|
| And for so I lived a thousand years, a thousand turns of tides
|
| Just a thousand leaves in autumn and a thousand ways to try
|
| Oh, a thousand
|
| It’s just a thousand ways to try
|
| Ways to try |