We was runnin through the fields of burnin dandelions

Your mind is what i reside in

Tilling up the garden of the gods that I owe because it's planted in my mind that i'll reap what I sew

I know

They turned from golden suns

To cream cropped moons

Shepherd's clocks swaying to the call of a loon they swoon at the sight, close up with the rain

And we channel wind wishin for their coming days

I am a golden son

A cream cropped moon

A shepherds clock swaying to the call of a loon

I swoon at the sight, close up with the rain

And you channel wind wishing for my coming days

I watched the trees get dressed in their sunday best

Crying amber in the shade as they readied for rest

They say see me in October for the last of my breath

And I will see that you surpass another winters' attest

You are a golden sun setting fire to the lone

The places you have never been but still call home

You are the birds flying south, are the rivers, are the seams of the quilt that warms kin clean