There's a spot on an empty field
where I go to be alone
In a copse of some skinny trees
silent enough to sing songs
It's not for the birds
They don't know for whom we toil
Among the other lowly creatures
right where I go to be
Around my own
What it means to be alone
There's too much talking wind
Shut the leaves up too
It's not for the birds
They don't know for whom we toil
Among the other lowly creatures
right where I go to be