Our car, moving slowly
In the morning, in the morning.
My mother holding
an old dog, and talking.
The clouds were so perfect
on the hills, in the sunlight,
on Boxing Day, driving,
our minds were far away.

We’ve come to
the end of -
the end of -
the end of -
Bend and take your shoes off,
your shoes off,
your shoes off.
Those clouds are going to come down
from the hilltops, the hilltops.
The morning’s going to get rough,
going to get rough.

All gathered ’round
the small death that prepares us.
All gathered ’round,
it’s our grief that repairs us.

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