Time's a pitcher
That is made of clay
To pour tomorrow
Into yesterday
Born of fire
But to break anyway
It all leads to this hillside
Where the land is sore for eyes
This is what we waited for
Walked our days to find
Easy mind
Easy mind
Getting lost in iridescence
Flying in the pine
I've been living as a crescent
This whole world in disguise
It all leads to this hillside
Where the land is sore for eyes
All that searching, all to find
Easy mind
Easy mind
Easy mind
Easy mind
Easy mind...