Tragically Hip As I Wind Down The Pines
As I wind down the pines
It's the lines on your face
Playing on your face
Without thinking so much
As abandoning thought
I went through open country
Over water, meadows, streams
Lakes and wires and roosts in reeds
To a nest in the hole of this dead tree
To play without stopping or pause
Not for silence, not for applause
Not without thinking
And thinking is abandoning thought
As I wind down the pines
It's the lines on your face
Playing on your face
