Lumberyard Testo

The axe in my hand
Cuts only at branches
Cuts not at the bark
Its toughness is far
Too much for this blade
All rusted and lame
As the ice trickles down
And covers this town
In the lumberyard thaw
This ice in my hands
In my head, it demands
Melts away when we all
Fly south for the fall
When we cover the streets
In dust from the trees
As our bodies flow out
Down rivers, past towns
Spilling out like a sound
Laying beds in the ground
Of the lumberyard


Ba-ba, ba-ba
Ba-ba, ba-ba
Ba-ba, ba-ba
Ba-ba, ba-ba
Ba-ba, ba-ba
Ba-ba, ba-ba
This axe in my hand
Cuts only at branches
Cuts not at the bark
Its toughness is far too much