Chopped olive sandwiches, roses and wine
Cold ripe persimmons, my sweet Clementine

There's a chill in the meadow, of bottomless time
I go on, I go on, I cannot fill my cup
There's a hole in the bottom, the spring has dried up

I run through the forests of linear time
Chop through the branches and cut through the vines

I'll be back in a moment, though it may take me years
In the lava rock canyons corroded with fears
Of corruptible bodies and grief beyond tears

I'll go on till I hear the sweet voices behind
That I've left for the comfort of cold Clementine

Ice Nine Publishing; used by permission