Stay on my shore and don't desert me
And if you go, the wind will blow you back to me
And if your boat is broken out on the rocks
It wasn’t anger, but a longing
We feed the birds syrup and seed
So they stay near, so we can see
Flashing red and blue amid the green
When the fruit has long since rotten
Rolled in the needles and wrecked our skin
Gave it all to be empty
Wrapped in leaves, wet and clinging
In wreaths so holy
We split the cord of cedar and holly
And lie indoors, let the smoke do the cleaning
And sweeten our skin with the salt and the stone
There’s the pages of our story
