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[ti:] |
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[ar:] |
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[al:] |
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. |
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Late the other day when the earth turned away |
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I found a little book in the grey flower |
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Drawn like a child on the cover |
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It was the story of the raven and the mushroom man |
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He was the first real friend he ever had |
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I never want to be like that serious man |
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Telling himself he is serious |
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Always counting those numbers |
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He's got a red face and a mushroom head |
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He's been too long in the rat race |
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Too long in the dead days |
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. |
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If only a raven with a sore wing |
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Could fall at his feet with eyes full of mercy |
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The little mushroom man might fashion |
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A little splint out of driftwood |
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And he might feel a little light shine |
| [02:02.08] |
He might see his own kindness |
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And think that maybe counting isn't everything |
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Maybe there are more ravens that need me more than numbers |
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. |
| [02:29.34] |
The mushroom man loved the raven so |
| [02:32.76] |
And deep inside his heart grew a thing called hope |
| [02:42.53] |
One Sunday night the raven was weak |
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He didn't wake up and the mushroom man weeped |
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Caused his planet to leak |
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Well he buried his friend and he buried his books |
| [02:59.33] |
He looked out to space and his head he shook |
| [03:02.67] |
As he looked out across the escape |
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A sapling rose grew from the raven's grace |
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From the raven's grave hope had sprung |
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He knew then how it had been done |
| [03:16.03] |
As he tended to the raven's wing a seed of hope had grown within |
| [03:22.61] |
And now it grows for all to see and his planet is no longer just he |
| [03:31.72] |
. |