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| The wooden lookout seven stories high The steeple at the top, it won't stop singing singing singing singing It's got a rigid rule number one It's to keep the bodies living The last crooked sign to bend to the way trees are growing The usual size of a growth that's been trying for several hundred thousand seconds Allows you to drop from the eaves to the leaves in only several hundred thousand seconds You almost can see the fearless machine milling blindly Beneath the calamity looming when the sun goes down We hope the clouds stop bouncing each other off the mountains We hope the wooden lookout has a gutter it can use Ear to the ground alone where the edge of the day was The valley clicking to the tape already rolling Makes me want to turn the violin down This wind wheel won't stop spinning This damn wind wheel won't stop spinning around |
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