He is not a weatherman, but his bride lies with the land
And she will whisper to him, I'll be dressing up in snow
Cloaked in echo, it's almost as if only nature knows
How to bring his wife to life and breathe her into form
One more look from her eyes
One more look from her eyes
One more look, can you paint her back to life?
He knows every moor and mound
Every curve of every hill
The shoulder of the mountain
Where they watched a thousand dogs
One more look from her eyes
One more look, can you paint her back to life?
Rising she stirs, first it blurs
A breeze that lives
Like blossoms from the earth
Blending its shape to a skirt
With limbs that bend
He is drawn toward her
Pirouettenne
Autumn's peach black
Winter's velvet coat
To a moly palette of spring
In summer she's wrapped in Viennese cream
He is not a weatherman
But his pride lies with the land
And she will whisper to him
I'll be dressing up in snow
Cloaked in echo, it's almost
As if only nature knows how
To paint his wife to life
With every season's tone
One more look from her eyes
One more look from her eyes

One more look from her eyes
One more look from her eyes
One more look from her eyes
One more look from her eyes
One who writes, one who looks, can you paint it back to life?