Track Insight / Lyrics
You stand where the wild ivy grows,
Where the salt wind of winter blows.
Your copper skin turns a deep green,
The oldest thing that I have seen.
Oh, you rust in the tall damp grass,
Watching every slow season pass.
Fixed eyes on a workshop door,
You don't hunt the fields anymore.
A chip in your heavy metal beak,
The hinge of your left wing is weak.
The brambles hold you in a grip,
While the grey autumn raindrops drip.
Oh, you rust in the tall damp grass,
Watching every slow season pass.
Fixed eyes on a workshop door,
You don't hunt the fields anymore.
You remember the hammer and oil,
Before you sank into the soil.
The forge fire went cold in the night,
Leaving you out of the lamplight.
Oh, you rust in the tall damp grass,
Watching every slow season pass.
Fixed eyes on a workshop door,
You don't hunt the fields anymore.
Your hollow chest holds a dead bee,
Locked away where no one can see.
You wait for a hand and a key,
To set your stiff iron wings free.
Oh, you rust in the tall damp grass,
Watching every slow season pass.
Fixed eyes on a workshop door,
You don't hunt the fields anymore.
Just a bird made of red brown rust.
Sinking slow in the backyard dust.
