By the shooting range
At the door of the plain
A poet lies in the ground
His family is there and for years they have stared
At the wooden box surround
Perhaps he stood there
And with phrases had cared
To have captured the views he found
If you're crossing the line
An angel you'll find
Deep in the wooded land
At the door of the plain
A poet lies in the ground
His family is there and for years they have stared
At the wooden box surround
Perhaps he stood there
And with phrases had cared
To have captured the views he found
If you're crossing the line
An angel you'll find
Deep in the wooded land
Don't want to grow much older now
I want to feel the sun, sun shine down
Don't want to see my bones rust
My skin turn to dust
And change from what I am now
Follow the path where the trees lead the road
And the tombs are made of stone
Three bearded men worship within
a church arrayed in gold
We can see with our eyes
And question our lives
And still not know were we go
If you're sure where you are
Well that's good so far
But we only know what we know
Don't want to grow much older now
I want to feel the sun, sun shine down
Don't want to see my bones rust
My skin turn to dust
And change from what I am now
The child in the womb
Was conceived in the wood
Upon this very ground
My hopes are made clear
A life without fear
And respect for his fellow man
I'll try to be strong
When I lead him along
The path that has been planned
But I'm still not sure
Of where I'll be gone
When I leave this land
Don't want to grow much older now
I want to feel the sun, sun shine down
Don't want to see my bones rust
My skin turn to dust
And change from what I am now
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