We all know that the wind blows and the moon glows and our lungs grow
We belong to the floating hand that's made by some animals
And we all dance so we can let go and move close and trade lows
Like the type of tongue that roots from your breast
And it shakes your pretty, little clavicle
A good friend is walking to a homeland, an inside land
And to him I said, 'You can leave your eyes at the horizon's dead door
'cause you won't need them anymore'
The children spins dawn in and the morning disappearing
They reappeared as a seed of love
You know the earth births the vegetables
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