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• Artiste: Bowerbirds
• Titre: My Oldest Memory
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I cracked my knuckles, and I said grace And gave thanks for being a hundred and still feeling amazed. Out where the waves wrestle with the dirty brine, This is a lonely place. This was a home of mine. After the struggle, Id watch the sand settle Over the quiet reef. Its my oldest memory. And I dont know whose land were on. Is this an island that plots like a villain, Or an old ghost friend we dont believe in? I dont know. I curse the weapon we stub our toes on. Its the land of make believe, cant you see, cant you see? Now in the dirt where I put my feet, and in the trunk of my body, Im only shy, here, when I want to be, my head between my cypress knees. And in the top of the canopy of the trees I am climbing, The morning sun here, you will see. Its my oldest memory. And I dont know whose land were on. Is this an island that plots like a villain, Or an old ghost friend we dont believe in? Is this an island that plots like a villain, Or an old ghost friend we dont believe in? I dont know