Cooksonia

I've given the better part of my days
To the consideration of small things
Gingerly went unpicking the seams
Of a long dried-up stream (ya-ho, ya-ho, ya-ho)
Dwelling at length inside the mad waltz
Of spores on a gust of the mind's hair
And when I dream I really go
To that ocean of stone (ya-ho, ya-ho, ya-ho)

In the shadowed shallows our spirit wells
Move closer, move closer
On the radio I hear the blue hills
Move closer, here and there

When I was young, the better part of my days
Were spent to the nursing of my mum
I found my pleasure whenever I could
In tennis and piano (ya-ho, ya-ho, ya-ho)
And though we were half-broke
I managed to go
To study at the University of Melbourne
Melbourne

In the shadowed shallows our spirit wells
Move closer, move closer
On the radio I hear the blue hills
Move closer, here and there

A week at sea, the better part of my days
Holed up in the cabin lost in boundless study
I'm on my way to the UK
With Ethel McLennan (ya-ho, ya-ho, ya-ho)
Unfortunately the fungal cultures we brought with us
Have started to degrade

There are no birds
No bushes or trees
No beasts nor people
Only this single stem