When the sun spills its yolk into the blue sky
Pours liquid gold over the wheat fields
Twin oil lamps flicker in the old man’s eyes

And he says ‘you must be very proud of this one’

We tell him that we are with eyes like chandeliers
He shares the same old stories but we don’t mind
He’s lived the life he’s chosen, one to be revered
And he says ‘you must be very proud of this one’

Endlessly leafing through the same paperback
Same two pages stay fresh as daisies
He rests a gentle hand upon our babies head
and he says ‘you must be very proud of this one’

Oh we are, we say, so proud
We’re told that’s a sin but what are they on about
Wrinkled tree, shelter the sapling
New fires begin while older ones peter out
Seek within, tell us your memories
In your museum the walls are all crumbling
in your museum the walls are all crumbling
in your museum the walls are all crumbling