Watching the grass grow, the gaslight goes down, I know that I'm standing back in my hometown where nothing's as real as the things that they say
and I feel like I'm crying in the midst of a rainbow with a glow all around me,
is this being free or is it dead?

Seventeen marks out of twenty they said, I could have saved them the bother of the telling.

A top o' the morning and the new day, but it catches me yawning my life away and I pray, won't you tell me or bell me sometime with the news from this family, they're kinfolk of mine, she gets me when I'm lower than the scales on a rattler, I look up to see me looking up, looking down, weird what you think when you think no one is watching.

The grass grows at last, not too slow or too fast and I like it that way.