I can feel the mystery
But I can't play it
Grey as the children are grey
My thoughts are grim, polluted as I am
Walking out one summer noon

So soon
How will the weather bring
Sing like the children have sung
High as the stars are hung
I vanish before I go

I have written with a rope
Wrapped around my throat
Loomed like an island
Dope hooked and cycloned
Honey-combed my heart in love

And from above
Every cemetery
Against the bloom
Rattle the pigs, visit the silence
Waking up an open wound

I can feel the mystery
But I can't play it
Grey as the children are grey
My thoughts are dim, polluted as I am
Walking out one summer noon

Copyright: BMG Rights Management
Writer(s): JEFF TWEEDY