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Dead Trees

de The Blasting Company

This sinking ship, all rusted brown
It leans for land, desperate not to drown
Oh, our machines will come and go
They'll go with age, even as they grow
And, oh, my son, when you get old
I hope your heart is light enough for you to float
And, oh, my son, when you get old
I hope your heart is light enough for you to float

Uncork the wine
We'll draw it in
You cut the line
We'll spread them thin
Oh, how our dreams will come and go
Most much too fast
Some far too slow
And, oh, my son, when you get old
I hope your heart is light enough for you to float
And, oh, my son, when you get old
I hope your heart is light enough for you to float

So write your book
Though it gets wet
The pages, crooked
The letters, bled
Oh, how these sons will come and go
But there's just one that's close enough to drive this boat
And, oh, that son will come and go
And when it's gone it darkens everything we know
And, oh, my son, when you get old
I hope your heart's still light enough for you to float
And, oh, my son, when you are old
I hope your heart is light enough for you to float
And, oh, my son, when you get old
I hope your heart is light enough for you to float
And, oh, my son, when you get old
I hope your wit is dry enough for you to smoke

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