Birch tree lost its branch one day in violent winter
I said it was grieving, you said it don't feel nothing
I bet you think everything's in its rightful place
That sentiment is man's disgrace
Well the rooks in the trees, they don't half bother me
Clawing at my mind with every given opportunity
It's spring outside, a perilous sky and that terrible clattering sound
Go ahead, you should go shoot them down
That's what you said, you should go shoot them down
So hey, that's me
Shooting at a hundred-year-old rookery
Oh, look at me
The definition of futility
That's what they'll say anyway
Won't they, babe?
So I'll go back to working through the gentle hours of the evening
Where the weather and the wine and the company treat me easily
Unknowing am I of the wind that took my eye
Unknowing am I of the wind
Unknowing am I of the wind that took my eye
Unknowing am I of the wind
