I Am Oak Birches
There are piles of sand
And your skinned knees
I write in plural all the time, these times
Pick up what's right
And hold on quite tight
Your feathers fly and
Your wrinkly eyes in the night
Tonight
We sang hymns on the holy ground
We sang hymns on the holy ground
We sang hymns on the holy ground
We sang hymns on the holy ground
And I don't like to say this because
I consider it to be quite bold in the eyes of the night
We could go, so we say it but we don't
We could go, so we say it but we don't
We could go, so we say it but we don't
We could go, so we say it but we don't, no
We sang hymns on the holy ground
We sang hymns on the holy ground
We sang hymns on the holy ground
We sang hymns on the holy ground
