This arc sun burns His back brown High road heat Outside this town
This arc sun burns Flecked with dew As he stoops and opens the traps He looks up into His darkened room
Long live the weeds Pitted hoof tracks Long live the weeds His darkened room
His box of birds Weighs him down As he walks Far from this town
His box of birds Shrills and flutes As he climbs The straw withered slopes He looks up into The harvest moon
Long live the weeds Brushing his wooden leg Long live the weeds This harvest moon
