Teksty: Bowerbirds. My Oldest Memory.

I cracked my knuckles, and I said grace
And gave thanks for being a hundred and still feeling amazed.
Out where the waves wrestle with the dirty brine,
This is a lonely place. This was a home of mine.
After the struggle, Id watch the sand settle
Over the quiet reef. Its my oldest memory.

And I dont know whose land were on.
Is this an island that plots like a villain,
Or an old ghost friend we dont believe in?
I dont know.

I curse the weapon we stub our toes on.
Its the land of make believe, cant you see, cant you see?
Now in the dirt where I put my feet, and in the trunk of my body,
Im only shy, here, when I want to be, my head between my cypress knees.
And in the top of the canopy of the trees I am climbing,
The morning sun here, you will see. Its my oldest memory.

And I dont know whose land were on.
Is this an island that plots like a villain,
Or an old ghost friend we dont believe in?
Is this an island that plots like a villain,
Or an old ghost friend we dont believe in?
I dont know