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the illalogical spoon - deer path #1 (technology is a failure) كلمات الأغنية

i was walking down a deer path, lord, and it was so beautiful
i was walking down a deer path, lord, and it was so beautiful
i was feeling alive and strong, i wanted to go more, but after [?] the path stopped at a grocery store

woah, technology is a failure
we’re no happier now
i just got to get out of this town

we were gathered around to share some food and company
started speaking from your heart there slowly opening
just then talking words [?] to put down our phones
work will wake us early with regret that we have to go

woah, we can to collect walking on is better yet and find each other

thunder laughed as the power went out
and lighting filled the night
we watching from our porch in silence and delight
fun to think about how we survived without electricity
woah, but we forgot all about it when the lights came on, we fell asleep

woah, foxes have their holes and birds have their nests
but the son of man has no place to rest
and very last thing that i would want to do is say that i ain’t done no [?] in two

oh come and go, on us again
oh wind, oh wind, oh wind, oh wind
i thought i was done roaming, but now i never be again
i pledge myself to you my friend, oh wind
come and blow on us again
oh little flower, your prairie roots are deep
but the fires that you keep must freely sweep for love is wide
and when you’re told, “assimilate or go,” refuse to stay your place
you know there where nothing for us anyway
longevity bears fruit when it’s rooted to its calling
i hear it howling for you out in the cold wind
follow and you may come home or you may never come home again

making snow angels on the lawn
i heard the sirens call [?] down by the tracks, and of course i went running
the soil in the valley on the river sweet
i could not settle there
when i got up to the top i saw a hundred more i couldn’t stop
i was like a warbler on a high ridge in a lone pine shaped by bitter winds
dark clouds always gather around
it’s there i shelter in and then i come back to the ground again
i’ve been making friends with the wild weeds, their music is my music taste
getting hard to cultivate where the roads just seemed like strings to pluck, and the cries of the wounded earth that keep me up at night

no longer can i sing those hymns, they praise the way things are
their common sense commonplace is death to hearts like ours

- the illalogical spoon

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