When the roots of the tree are as cold as can be When the wind and the sea are the moth and the bee When the rays of the sun lick your skin with it's tongue, And the grass with it's green And the grass with it's green And the shine with it's sheen And the shine with it's sheen And the trains with their tracks, And the spines with their backs, And your sway with it's slow And the wind with it's blow, And your scream with it's soul I DON'T PLAY ROCK AND ROLL And the people with their lungs And the people with their paws. If the sky were a stone made of lips made of bone, Count my teeth to keep the time.