He stands on a cedar beam
Watching the gray gravel stream
Scent of damp loam in the air
Old copper skin, weathered wear
Spinning round in the indigo
Waiting for the wind to blow
Copper point and a steady eye
Slicing through a violet sky
Roots of the Acer are deep
While the garden enters sleep
He marks where the north wind leans
Holding fast to velvet greens
Spinning round in the indigo
Waiting for the wind to blow
Copper point and a steady eye
Slicing through a violet sky
Oxide stains a salted green
Sharpest edge that can be seen
He counts every falling seed
Meeting every seasonal need
Spinning round in the indigo
Waiting for the wind to blow
Copper point and a steady eye
Slicing through a violet sky
Twilight turns the driveway gold
Stories that the minerals hold
He guards the gate and the stone
Standing in the dark alone
Spinning round in the indigo
Waiting for the wind to blow
Copper point and a steady eye
Slicing through a violet sky
Steady eye in the violet sky
Copper point, copper point, high