Raise your family of ghosts and spirits, Sir, we
really need to drink from your wine. And yes, your
skeletons in the closets (might I bring a few of
mine?). Let's see what we can't see, unlock your
books for a change. Glass excavated... bits of
china... Mulberry Row scars still remain.

Bones are everywhere, aren't they? Our families
spring from their graves. Their Sunday Best don't
fit them bones the same way and wine is seeping
from the barrel staves...again.

I'm in your tea room toasting lives unchanged
(while music's playing by the garden's edge).
Outside rusted joints prove souls asleep can
flowers blooms from this vintage? Relative
Skeletons nervously shuffle, we glance around
community of our own. Quiet valley drips with
hints of laughter. Mr. Jefferson, can we slip
these bones?

Find more similar lyrics on http://mp3lyrics.com/AvmAnd bones are everywhere, aren't they? What do you
think they'd see through those trees? 'Resurrected
Spirits Dancing,' you don't say!? (The minstrel's
new arrangement of History).

We danced and drank the sun! It over flowed and
washed the past away. We roamed! Echo! Laughter!
Spirits danced a jig around their graves...
...Then came the rain.

A garden craves a balance of both (I guess so).
From the garden, they're all running from the
garden, we're all looking for the garden. So much
to maintain. Bones are everywhere aren't they?
Ghosty spirits dash right past me. Finding hidden
spaces, favored places. Families disperse to there
graves. Bones are here to stay aren't they? We
cultivate the bones that we're of. Sir, if you
caught me drunk on wisdom, would you say I've had
enough?