Willard Grant Conspiracy Kite Flying
Beneath the blue Organ Mountains
Beneath the sky and the stars
Far from the road and trail, I hear you sigh
I hear you sigh, I hear you sigh
In the skin, in the skin where memory begins
In the skin, in the skin, it stretches thin in the wind
Freed from the flesh and bone
Stretched on a cross of wood
Tied to a string and then flown away
In the wind, in the wind, in the wind
In the skin, in the skin where memory begins
In the skin, in the skin, it stretches thin in the wind
In the skin, in the skin where memory begins
In the skin, in the skin, it stretches thin in the wind
In the skin, in the skin where memory begins
In the skin, in the skin, it stretches thin in the wind