He is not a weatherman, but his bride lies with the landAnd she will whisper to him, I'll be dressing up in snowCloaked in echo, it's almost as if only nature knowsHow to bring his wife to life and breathe her into formOne more look from her eyesOne more look from her eyesOne more look, can you paint her back to life?He knows every moor and moundEvery curve of every hillThe shoulder of the mountainWhere they watched a thousand dogsOne more look from her eyesOne more look, can you paint her back to life?Rising she stirs, first it blursA breeze that livesLike blossoms from the earthBlending its shape to a skirtWith limbs that bendHe is drawn toward herPirouettenneAutumn's peach blackWinter's velvet coatTo a moly palette of springIn summer she's wrapped in Viennese creamHe is not a weathermanBut his pride lies with the landAnd she will whisper to himI'll be dressing up in snowCloaked in echo, it's almostAs if only nature knows howTo paint his wife to lifeWith every season's toneOne more look from her eyesOne more look from her eyesOne more look from her eyesOne more look from her eyesOne more look from her eyesOne more look from her eyesOne who writes, one who looks, can you paint it back to life?