The Ankward Wind Wheel

The wooden lookout seven stories high

The steeple at the top, it won't stop singing

singing singing singing

It's got a rigid rule number one

It's to keep the bodies living

The last crooked sign to bend to the

way trees are growing

The usual size of a growth that's been trying

for several hundred thousand seconds

Allows you to drop from the eaves

to the leaves

in only several hundred thousand seconds

You almost can see the fearless machine

milling blindly

Beneath the calamity looming

when the sun goes down

We hope the clouds stop bouncing each

other off the mountains

We hope the wooden lookout has a gutter it can use

Ear to the ground alone where the edge of the day was

The valley clicking to the tape already rolling

Makes me want to turn the violin down

This wind wheel won't stop spinning

This damn wind wheel won't stop spinning around