The words to the song are hard to follow.
They fluctuate on each occasion of singing.
But the core of the tune remains:
An ode to the sense of motion.
Part I:
Tea orders the mind.
The ordinary room, well designed,
Holds the texts on which to meditate.
The hanging art is a base decor, aligning
with pastimes forgotten, and old debate
The realization stings, the air closes in.
Until, on the path, one regains the sense
Inside of the hour the bones begin
Their awakening, the closing of the past tense
The desire, upon reclining, not to rest
After completion, the lack of completeness
Felt in the gut, and heard in the voices
Of those engaged in composition
Echoing in the inevitable choices
toward achieving victory in some competition
Having awoken, noting the vanished hours
Who persuade you into a rush,
Into motion: the step, reach of the flowers,
Theatrical waving, a vigorous push