I'm the nightwatchman seeking out words and melody In need of a bed in need of a bed
I'm the nightwatchman seeking out words and melody in need of a bed in need of some head
Standing in the old clothes that my childhood wore
When I was half as young as I am now
The Machine police build monuments to slobbery
But the Ewe tree laughs still into the wind.
Some say yes and some say no till the sky turns black and blue
I'm the nightwatchman seeking out words and melody in need of a bed in need of some head
I am looking for the few who are waiting in the weeds, grounded in the now, sharpening the immortal plough.
Standing in my old clothes by the scantily clad shore in wool hand stitched by an East wall mother
No more sorrys now
The sea is a healer
I look back on it fondly as sunlight floods the chamber.
You then see was it was I saw and the sky is an Emerald green.
Let me in, give us a kiss.