every hair on your head is counted
|
you are worth hundreds of sparrows
|
the tree you planted has become fecund
|
with kamikaze hummingbirds
|
|
wings of hundreds of beats per second
|
of people whose wings are just a blur
|
afraid our eyes might become impaled
|
by their sharp and tiny beaks
|
|
I'm so sorry
|
my spirit's rarely in my body
|
it wanders through the dry country
|
looking for a good place to rest
|
your head upon my chest
|
and I can feel the pillow of your breast
|
|
you are worth hundreds of sparrows
|
|
-----------------
|
Hundreds Of Sparrows
|
| Sparklehorse |
