Sedge grass grows in the black water mud.
Sap runs thick like a heavy red flood.
The Taxodium stands in the gray.
Waiting for the light to slip away.
Wind up the brass and let it spin.
Let the swampy rhythm begin.
Copper horn singing a low gold tune.
Underneath a heavy crescent moon.
Wooden porch boards are humming a song.
Where the slow current drags the night along.
Sagusum seeds drift on the humid breeze.
Swaying in the deep cypress tree leaves.
Wind up the brass and let it spin.
Let the swampy rhythm begin.
Copper horn singing a low gold tune.
Underneath a heavy crescent moon.
Iron gears click in a steady old beat.
While the humid air tastes like something sweet.
Sarracenia traps the summer fly.
Watching as the purple clouds roll by.
Root and soil hold the secret tight.
Turning day into a velvet night.
Wait for the spark and the needle's touch.
I have loved this heavy silence too much.
Moss hangs low like a curtain of green.
Deepest water that I have ever seen.
The gramophone hums a dusty old track.
Calling all the wandering spirits back.
Wind up the brass and let it spin.
Let the swampy rhythm begin.
Copper horn singing a low gold tune.
Underneath a heavy crescent moon.
Latin names for the bloom and the weed.
Planting every single hopeful seed.
The needle scratches on a black wax disc.
Taking every single lonely risk.
Wind up the brass and let it spin.
Let the swampy rhythm begin.
Copper horn singing a low gold tune.
Underneath a heavy crescent moon.
Copper horn singing low.
Let the river flow slow.
Let the river flow slow.
