Fleecing

                                  Deep green hills whose shoulders fade into thick grey 

Tall wet grass whose flesh makes fools of grazing sheep

Whose fleecing makes a fool of me 

Who shall I blame for this sweet and heavy trouble for every stupid struggle I don't know 



I could buy you a drink 

I could tell you all about it 

I could tell you why I doubt it and why I still believe

I can't say it like I sing it 



I can't sing it like I think it

I can't think like I feel it 

And I don't feel a thing 

Why I still believe it 



Why I need it 

And what the pharisees can't see 

We'd have more drinks 

And speak of so many things 

But I don't know you and you don't know me