stick, a stone,
It's the end of the road,
It's the rest of a stump,
It's a little alone

It's a sliver of glass,
It is life, it's the sun,
It is night, it is death,
It's a trap, it's a gun

The oak when it blooms,
fox in the [bad word] 
knot in the wood,
The song of a [bad word] 

The wood of the wind,
cliff, a fall,
scratch, a lump,
It is nothing at all

It's the wind blowing free,
It's the end of the slope,
It's a beam, it's a void,
It's a hunch, it's a hope

And the river bank talks
of the waters of March,
It's the end of the strain,
The joy in your heart

The foot, the ground,
The flesh and the bone,
The beat of the road,
slingshot's stone

fish, a flash,
silvery glow,
fight, a bet,
The range of a bow

The bed of the well,
The end of the line,
The dismay in the face,
It's a loss, it's a find

spear, a spike,
point, a nail,
drip, a drop,
The end of the tale

[bad word] of bricks
in the soft morning light,
The shot of a gun
in the dead of the night

mile, a must,
[bad word]  a bump,
It's a girl, it's a rhyme,
It's a cold, it's the mumps

The plan of the house,
The body in bed,
And the car that got stuck,
It's the mud, it's the mud

float, a drift,
flight, a wing,
hawk, a quail,
The promise of spring

And the riverbank talks
of the waters of March,
It's the promise of life
It's the joy in your heart

snake, a stick,
It is John, it is Joe,
It's a thorn in your hand
and a cut in your toe

point, a grain,
bee, a bite,
blink, a buzzard,
sudden stroke of night

pin, a needle,
sting, a pain,
snail, a riddle,
wasp, a stain

pass in the mountains,
horse and a mule,
In the distance the shelves
rode three shadows of blue

And the riverbank talks
of the waters of March,
It's the promise of life
in your heart, in your heart

And the riverbank talks
of the waters of March,
It's the end of all strain,
It's the joy in your heart.