Born in the shade
I know what I am
Hard head brimming with pine and gold
The shade
Like mud in a river fish
Cannot be rinsed away
A breeze in the dark room

I know what the field mouse startled
Split with a scythe
Knew of his own blood
In the tear to the bright edge

When the strange tree
That catches the eye
Among all others
Moves in a trance
In almost no wind
Some fatal grain undone
I know what I am

I know what the field mouse startled
Split with a scythe
Knew of his own blood
In the tear to the bright edge