I just came back from the waterfall,
in the shade of a granite wall.
Searching with a borrowed light,
the moon dropped down on a white tree night
with forest greens fading into blackness.
On my way through the valley snow,
wet grime by the meadow
I lost contact with the scene,
that granite is a changing thing.
That granite is changing into blackness
and whatever else fills the sky, whatever else fills the sky.
No, you’re never alone.
No, you’re never alone.
Surrounded by the changing abstract.
Surrounded by the changing abstract.
Surrounded by the changing abstract.
Time stood still in a western haze,
memorized as granite grays,
I drank with immortal logs
in the twisted woods of an evening fog
stepping down to tops of trees.
In the cold night feeling, and whatever
else fills the sky, whatever else fills the sky.
No, you’re never alone.
No, you’re never alone.
Surrounded by the changing abstract.
Surrounded by the changing abstract.
Surrounded by the changing abstract.
Surrounded by the changing abstract …