Mary, your leaves are all cold   But why do they take on such youth when you're old   Once you were made up with Christmas lights and bells   But you were hollow on the inside and no one could tell      What good is your life if you're stuck in your roots   Can't feel any sun 'cause you're under a roof   Let go of the leaves Mary and fingers are all bone   There will be photographs to remember your place on the lawn      You collect the leaves to scatter on your farm   And grow cautious fruit on nervous apple trees   Shaking from their roots doesn't keep them warm   Frost comes before the freeze      There is no place in the dirt for a sailor like me   Who sees trees chained not rooted to the earth   So I pack my bags and wander to the docks   To pull out the hermit crabs and collect the bottle tops      Where the water is clean   I will see your face again   I won't have to bail   I've got a new white sail      When I drift to the ocean floor   They could say I fell into a spiral shell   And you can say I want another Camelot   In the clean white cloth of a restaurant      And then the telephone sounds like a microphone   A head of stone      The blades of grass all around it grew   Green where the dirt moved   Not a place to rest   I am cutting down on the grass   And fighting with the emptiness   Buried to fertilize the trees      I don't to see you stabbing on the lawn tonight   With a garbage can of leaves and a flashlight