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