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Tiny Ruins

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Tiny Ruins

She'll Be Coming Round

Like a brightly painted one,
Freed from the turning of the wheel,
Her mane dancing in the wind,
Eyes fiery as the sun,
Hooves bounding across the fields,
Her body is a river flowing down,

She'll be coming 'round,
She'll be coming 'round the bend,
She'll be coming 'round.

Going 'round a mountain is a lovely thing to do.
Lizards fleeing, hearts beating, as in an old cartoon.
A mountain is a lovely cold thing to surround one
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looking to understand.

Will she be coming 'round?
Will she be coming 'round the bend?
Will she be coming 'round?

No more relying on.
No more relying on.
No more relying on.
That old free will might be a myth,
but I'm gonna try and get me some.