A stick, a stone, it's the end of the road
The rest of a stump, a little alone
A sliver of glass, it is life, it's the sun
It is night,
it is death,
it's a trap,
it's a gun
The oak when it blooms
A fox in the brush
The knot in the wood
The song of a trush
The wood of the wind
A cliff, a fall
A scratch, a lump, it is nothing at all
It's the wind blowing free,
it's the end of the slope
It's a beam,
it's a void,
it's a hunch,
it's a hope
And the riverbank talks of the waters
of March It's the end of the strain,
it's the joy in your heart
The foot, the ground The flesh and the bone
The beat of the road,
a slingshot stone A fish,
a flash,
a silvery glow
A fight, a bet,
the range of a bow
The bed of the well,
the end of the line A dismay in the face,
it's a loss,
it's a fine
A spear,
a spike,
a point,
a nail A drip,
a drop,
the end of the tail
A truckload of bricks in the soft morning light
The shot of a gun in the dead of the night
A mile,
a must,
a thrust,
a bump It's a girl,
it's a rhyme,
it's a cold,
it's the mumps
The plan of the house,
the body in bed And the car that got stuck,
it's the mud,
it's the mud
A float,
a drift,
a flight,
a wink,
a hawk,
a quail
The promise of spring,
and the riverbank talks of the waters of March
It's the promise of life,
it's the joy in your heart
A snake, a snake
It is John
It is Joan,
is a thorn in your hand,
a cut in your toe,
a point,
a grain,
a bee,
a bite,
a blink,
a buzzard,
sudden stroke of night,
a pin,
a needle,
a sting,
a pain,
a snail,
a riddle,
a wasp,
a stain,
a pass in the mountains,
a horse and a mule, in the distance the shells
draw three shadows of blue,
and the riverbank talks of the waters of March,
it's the promise
of life in your heart,
in your heart,
a stick,
a stone,
the end of the load,
the rest of us
taunt,
a lonesome road,
a sliver of glass,
a life,
the sun,
a night,
the dead,
the end of the run,
and the riverbank talks of the waters of March,
it's the end of all strain,
it's the joy in your
heart.