In truth, it's like the garden of a careless man unaffected by a mortal hand, yet perfectly tended. In bloom, wild flourish of forgotten land, like Eden couldn’t find a garden hand when paradise ended. Soon, while I assumed the harvest compromised, the brilliant chaos had me so surprised by the fruits it extended. Well, time grows strange like an apple tree; still I toil and I pine, I pine. Unknown and sung like a melody. Womb awakened her with life again like a river through a holy land, the conflict it’s holding. And who’s there? The glow of laughter just beyond the door? The heartache stopped when sorrow cut it short with her blood on the pine floor. Well, time grows strange like an apple tree; still I toil and I pine, I pine. Unknown and sung like a melody someone else will write. La da da da da da And it’s playing without sound on the airplane seat backs now The displays are ranging, calm then crazy. I look round and round for weather. Whether time grows strange like an apple tree. Still I hope, but I am fine, I’m fine. Unknown, it’s unlike most anything, so it must be mine. So it must be mine.