The world is alive / and gives off an electric hum / the soft throbbing of a drum / fueled by crickets that chirp and swell / and though there are terrible things to come / tonight in the woods / all the world is well.

As I walk along the road / I pick up different things I find / and put them in my medicine pouch / later when I’m lying on the couch / I sort them through the night / some are a little bit right / and some are a little bit wrong / I mix them all together / and then put them into a song / some are a little bit old / and some are a little bit new / I put them all inside of my pouch / and I wait for the medicine to brew.

Under the sign of a changing-faced god / ashes and messages were spread / from the living to the dead / the living had been scattered across a grid / so that nothing that they did / made one shred of sense anymore / even the masks they wore / could not disguise their stumbling fate / so when the light turned green / they would go / and when the light turned back to red / they would sit and wait.

It seems that I’m speaking a lost language / that nobody else can hear / and I’m starting to get a bit worried / because I’m sure I’m speaking perfectly clear / it makes we wonder if I’m the only one left / or perhaps the first of my kind / because there’s no one to reason with / or try to talk me down / when I’m out walking on the edge of my mind / it seems that I’m speaking a language / that go buried and left behind / it makes me wonder if I’m the only one left / or perhaps just the first of my kind.

Late in the day / when I’m too tired to climb / I’m going to get up / on the shoulders of time / and let it carry me forward / from the desert to the sea / where death is just a toy sword / and pain a distant memory / going back to a happier place / full of simple song and rhyme / tonight I’m taking a chance again / upon the long / broad shoulders of time.

There are some renegade parrots in my neighborhood / and it makes me feel good / because they managed to get away / and make their own place in a city of crooks / there must be a million nooks in which a parrot can hide / but there’s not so many for a man / that’s why I admire this renegade band / and smile every time I hear them scream / they’re up there living out my dream.

Usually / you would call a mountain steep / but this one grew inside out / so I’m calling it deep / it started out with a dream that wouldn’t die / and a blueprint that would one day challenge the sky / but the years rolled by until there was nothing left to lose / and so I sat down to cry a new song for you / and I’m calling it the deep mountain blues.