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BEHIND THE DRY STONE
Dust on my shoes, sun on the wall, nothing is moving, nothing at all.
I hear a sound under the ground, something is waiting where no one’s around.
Behind the dry stone, where the wild roots grow, behind the dry stone, there’s a place I know. No road to follow, no sign to show, just turn the corner and let yourself go.
Old twisted branches lean to the sky, black birds are watching the afternoon die.
Wind through the grass, slow like a tune, shadows get longer, night’s coming soon.
Behind the dry stone, where the wild roots grow, behind the dry stone, there’s a place I know. No road to follow, no sign to show, just turn the corner and let yourself go.
— Hammond / Rhodes instrumental break —
Maybe tomorrow I’ll come back again, looking for something I couldn’t explain.
But tonight I’ll stay where the warm winds blow, behind the dry stone…
