As i wind down the pines It's the lines on your face Playing on your face. Without thinking so much As abandoning thought I went through open country Over water meadow streams Lakes and wires and roosts in reeds To a nest in the hole of This dead Tree. To play without stopping or pause Not for silence not for applause Not without thinking And thinking's abandoning thought. As i wind down the pines It's the lines on your face Playing on your face.