A stick, a stone, it's the end of the road

It's the rest of a stump, it's a little alone

It's a sliver of glass, it is life, it's the sun

It's the night, it is death, it's a trap. it's a gun

The oak when it blooms, a fox in the brush

The knot of the wood, the song of a thrush

The wood of the wind, a cliff, a fall

A scratch, a lump, it is nothing at all

It's the wind blowing free, it's the end of the slope

It's a beam, it's a void, it's a hunch, it's a hope

And the river bank talks of the waters of March

It's the end of the strain

It's the joy in your heart