Emily Joanna Newsom
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[Verse 1]
The meadowlark and the chim-choo-ree and the sparrow
Set to the sky in a flying spree, for the sport of the pharaoh
Little while later the Pharisees dragged a comb through the meadow
Do you remember what they called up to you and me, in our window?
There is a rusty light on the pines tonight;
Sun pouring wine, lord, or marrow, into the
Bones of the birches, and the spires of the churches, jutting out from the shadows;
The yoke, and the axe, and the old smokestacks, and the bale, and the barrow—
And everything sloped, like it was dragged from a rope, in the mouth of the south below
We've seen those mountains kneeling, felten and grey
We thought our very hearts would up and melt away
From that snow in the nighttime
Just going and going
And the stirring of wind chimes
In the morning
In the morning
Helps me find my way back in
From the place where I have been—
And, Emily, I saw you last night by the river
I dreamed you were skipping little stones across the surface of the water—
Frowning at the angle where they were lost, and slipped under forever
In a mud-cloud, mica-spangled, like the sky'd been breathing on a mirror
The meadowlark and the chim-choo-ree and the sparrow
Set to the sky in a flying spree, for the sport of the pharaoh
Little while later the Pharisees dragged a comb through the meadow
Do you remember what they called up to you and me, in our window?
There is a rusty light on the pines tonight;
Sun pouring wine, lord, or marrow, into the
Bones of the birches, and the spires of the churches, jutting out from the shadows;
The yoke, and the axe, and the old smokestacks, and the bale, and the barrow—
And everything sloped, like it was dragged from a rope, in the mouth of the south below
We've seen those mountains kneeling, felten and grey
We thought our very hearts would up and melt away
From that snow in the nighttime
Just going and going
And the stirring of wind chimes
In the morning
In the morning
Helps me find my way back in
From the place where I have been—
And, Emily, I saw you last night by the river
I dreamed you were skipping little stones across the surface of the water—
Frowning at the angle where they were lost, and slipped under forever
In a mud-cloud, mica-spangled, like the sky'd been breathing on a mirror
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