The wind is pushing the clouds along
A power
And everything is awing and tired of praise
Like death warmed over
Of day
And all I want to do
Is to make love
With a careless mind
We call it spring
On a clear blue morning
When I am out walking
My eyes are still forming
The true spring
And all I want to do
All I want to do
Is to make love to you
In the fertile dirt
