The sun is watching the birds fly slowly The flock is buried by white cloud shadows The beat is trying to hold the mountain He is made of ice but never blood purple Every time this happens, the children run faster They run fast trying to catch their feathers Every time this happens, the children run faster They run fast trying to catch their feathers The moon is distant and no one matters The bones are breaking as age takes over The eyes are spoiled by too much sunlight Little nude monsters are crying for lovers The more they try, the more they slither Every time this happens, the children run faster They run fast trying to catch their feathers Every time this happens, the children run faster They run fast trying to catch their feathers The wind is too harsh to even show up Even show up