The wind is pushing the clouds along
Out of sight
A power is putting them away
A power that moves things neurotically
Like a widow with a rosary
Everything is awing and tired of praise
Mountains don't need my accolades
Spring looks bad lately anyway
Like d**h warmed over
And the bantam is preening madly
Waiting for the light of day
And all I want to do
Is to make love
To you
With a careless mind
With a careless, careless
Who care's what's mine?
We call it Spring though things are dying
Connected to the land like a severed hand
I see our house on a hill on a clear blue morning
When I am out walking my eyes are still forming
The door I walk through and I see
The true Spring is in you
The true Spring is in you
My wide worlds collide
And mind-wide words collide
And seasons kaleidoscoping
And all I want to do
All I want to do
Is to make love
To you
In the fertile dirt
In the fertile dirt
With a careless mind