Bill Callahan Spring
The wind is pushing the clouds along
Out of sight
A power is putting them away
A power that moves things neurotically
Like a widow with a rosary
And everything is aweing and tired of praise
And mountains don’t need my accolades
And spring looks bad lately anyway
Like death warmed over
And the bantam is preening madly waiting for the light of day
And all I want to do is to make love to you
With a careless, careless mind
With a careless, careless mind
Who cares what’s mine?
With a careless, careless mind
We call it spring though things are dying
Connected to the land like a severed hand
And I see our house on a hill on a clear blue morning
When I am out walking
My eyes are still forming the door I walk through
And I see, the true spring is in you
The true spring is in you
My wide worlds collide
And mind wide words collide
And seasons collide
Oh scoping
And all I want to do
All I want to do is to make love to you in the fertile dirt
In the fertile dirt
With a careless mind
With a careless, careless, careless mind
