Untitled کے بول

Birch tree lost its branch one day in violent winter I said it was grieving, you said it don't feel nothing I bet you think everything's in its rightful place That sentiment is man's disgrace Well the rooks in the trees they dont half bother me Clawing at my mind with every given opportunity It's spring outside, a perilous sky, and that terrible clattering sound Fuck it, you said, you should go shoot them down So hey, that's me Shooting at a 100 year old rookery Oh, look at me The definition of futility It's what you say anyway So I'll go back to working through the gentle hours of the evening Where the weather and the wine and the company treats me easily Unknowing am I of the wound that took my eye Unknowing am I of the wound Unknowing am I of the wound that took my eye Unknowing am I of the wound