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Marcus Foster
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Old Birch Tree
I will tell all the crooked worms in my grave
To save the eyes, save the eyes
And I will cover all the winding paths on which you pave
Fallen skies, fallen skies
And if I tie up my troubles to the old birch tree
And if I don't chop it down, don't chop it down
And I will throw all the stones in the shore at the restless sea
Till it's dry, till it's dry
And I will let all the hundred faces in the street
Pass me by, pass my by
And if you wanna sell away your sorrows
Then save some for me
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I will keep them from growing in the ground
And if I tie up my troubles to the old birch tree
And if I don't chop it down, don't chop it down
And if you wanna sell away your sorrows
Then save some for me
I will keep them from growing in the ground
And if I tie up my troubles to the old birch tree
And if I don't chop it down, don't chop it down
And if I tie up my troubles to the old birch tree
And if I don't chop it down, don't chop it down
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