inside these hands there's a country the fields cut by roads and the sweet tall grass flowing softly, licked by the wind and the rain coming down hard i hold tight in a tree outside for the winds will loudly grow inside these hands there's a country and as twilight approaches i will sing my oldest songs i will try to make my voice like a bird awakened suddenly and all the ghosts will rise through the dust and i will know this is paradise i look up to the bright black sky and i see your face beyond the clouds lift me up from this dusty lawn so i can die in the loneliness of your eyes