What lives below this granite crust

Flourescent moss and rose-tinted brush

Mid-afternoon

The season is early winter

The larch are gold and becoming, on a northern slope

My feet dangle over the edge

Will you throw me a rope

They say that it's an Indian summer

And 'though I'm tired of being the wind

I'm howlin' again

Oooh, ahhh. .

I listen for the owls breaking

Of midnight bones

I listen for the messages that speak

From my own

And 'though I don't know what time it is

I know I am alone

And 'though I'm tired of being the wind

I'm howlin' again

Oooh, ahhh

The sky is sighing snow

I'm singing in harmony

Take a bit of refuge

Beneath an old weathered tree

And slowly, slowly I befriend the wind

Ooh, ahh