inside these hands there's a country
the fields cut by roads and the sweet tall grass
flowing softly, licked by the wind and the rain coming down hard
i hold tight in a tree outside for the winds will loudly grow
inside these hands there's a country
and as twilight approaches i will sing my oldest songs
i will try to make my voice like a bird awakened suddenly
and all the ghosts will rise through the dust and i will know this is paradise
i look up to the bright black sky
and i see your face beyond the clouds
lift me up from this dusty lawn
so i can die in the loneliness of your eyes