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The Attic

de Paul Weller

Come blackest crow
Start the wheat field blow
In a wind so high
It waves and glows
'til you can't see the wood for the trees
I'm like anybody on their knees
Trying to find a way to make it fit
Picking up sticks

Let's swirl again
Take us far away
To the church bell's chime
In a far distant field
To a place where so lately so slow
And a time I feel like letting it go
Far away enough to catch our breath
I know where and everyone there
Looking to click
Picking up sticks

Come crimson rays
Paint us all the same
You know the magic is why
And it's here again
Now you can't see the wood for the trees
Now like anybody on their knees
Far away enough to catch our breath
Looking to click
Picking up sticks

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