Look how they shine for you Look at the stars And it was all yellow Oh yeah your skin and bones Turn into something beautiful Oh what a thing to do For you I'd bleed myself dry And everything you do

I remember something Down along the creek Her, the heron hurried away When first I breeched that last Sunday Low moon don the yellow road That leaving wasn't easing all that heaving in my vines And as certain it is evening at is now is not the time, ooh