The sun will burn a hole right through
your parasols
The clouds so sick they've split in two
from aerosols
The air will fill your lungs with fists
for ev'ry breath
'til future days when life exists
to mirror death
So you're wondering why
They put heaven on high
Why the gods don't visit us anymore
And you lift your eye
To the deep blue sky:
The only way out is up
And so you hire a bird to sing your songs
And you buy her a tree to start things off
And you wire the words through lines of leaves
And you hope that she shows when comes the sun
She may never sing
She may never show
But you don't know
The lake, the sea: the tireless gloves
where nature's hand
Still holds her sceptre far above
her ******* man
The shore where centuries of sand
through waves have raced
Invites a swim, but think where man
deposits waste
So you're wondering why
They put heaven on high
Why the angels tolerate pillowy floors
As you lift your eye
To the birth of blue sky:
The only way out is up
And so you hire a bird to sing your songs
And you buy her a tree to start things off
And you wire the words through lines of leaves
And you hope that she shows when comes the sun
She may never sing
She may never show
But you don't know
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 7:00 AM UTC
The sun will burn a hole right through
your parasols
The clouds so sick they've split in two
from aerosols
The air will fill your lungs with fists
for ev'ry breath
'til future days when life exists
to mirror death
So you're wondering why
They put heaven on high
Why the gods don't visit us anymore
And you lift your eye
To the deep blue sky:
The only way out is up
And so you hire a bird to sing your songs
And you buy her a tree to start things off
And you wire the words through lines of leaves
And you hope that she shows when comes the sun
She may never sing
She may never show
But you don't know
The lake, the sea: the tireless gloves
where nature's hand
Still holds her sceptre far above
her ******* man
The shore where centuries of sand
through waves have raced
Invites a swim, but think where man
deposits waste
So you're wondering why
They put heaven on high
Why the angels tolerate pillowy floors
As you lift your eye
To the birth of blue sky:
The only way out is up
And so you hire a bird to sing your songs
And you buy her a tree to start things off
And you wire the words through lines of leaves
And you hope that she shows when comes the sun
She may never sing
She may never show
But you don't know
this is a song by Think Tree
Request permission to use this poem