Dead trees miles and miles
dripping ink all the while
and you said to me
wouldn't it be nice if we were free

snow upon the ground it brings
the season of dead things
jagged rocks which stab the sky
painted things which make me cry
where do all the tin men go
a secret only they can know

lovers with a hand may find
distance of another kind
fainter things have found their place
among the stars they leave no trace
translucent light comes from within
someday soon the cracks wear thin
jetting away from the sun
strangers now you can't outrun

lonely lion of the land
desert fox running in the sand