The Leaves

Mary, your leaves are all cold
But why do they take on such youth when you're old
Once you were made up with Christmas lights and bells
But you were hollow on the inside and no one could tell

What good is your life if you're stuck in your roots
Can't feel any sun 'cause you're under a roof
Let go of the leaves Mary and fingers are all bone
There will be photographs to remember your place on the lawn

You collect the leaves to scatter on your farm
And grow cautious fruit on nervous apple trees
Shaking from their roots doesn't keep them warm
Frost comes before the freeze

There is no place in the dirt for a sailor like me
Who sees trees chained not rooted to the earth
So I pack my bags and wander to the docks
To pull out the hermit crabs and collect the bottle tops

Where the water is clean
I will see your face again
I won't have to bail
I've got a new white sail

When I drift to the ocean floor
They could say I fell into a spiral shell
And you can say I want another Camelot
In the clean white cloth of a restaurant

And then the telephone sounds like a microphone
A head of stone

The blades of grass all around it grew
Green where the dirt moved
Not a place to rest
I am cutting down on the grass
And fighting with the emptiness
Buried to fertilize the trees

I don't to see you stabbing on the lawn tonight
With a garbage can of leaves and a flashlight