how alive? too alive.

thousand ways

Oh, I have lived for ages, I’m a thousand turns of tides;
I’m a thousand wakes of springtime and thousand infant cries.
Oh, a thousand infant cries

I got sixteen hundred tigers now tied to silver strings;
When they pull out in the pastures, oh the mighty harp will sing.
Oh, the mighty harp will sing.

But I’ll always be blamed for the sun going down with us all;
But I’m the light in the middle of every man’s fall.

I bend my arrows now in circles and I shoot around the hill,
If I don’t get you in the morning, by the evening I sure will.
By the evening I sure will.

Because I’m the fire on the mountain you have lit up in your dream;
But also water on the fountain you could send myself on me.
You could send myself on me.

But I’ll always be blamed for the sun going down with us all;
But I’m the light in the middle of every man’s fall.

And no, I never meant to say these words, but yes, you ought to know
that the dark in what I’ve always been, it will not ever go.
No, it will not ever go.

And for so I lived a thousand years, a thousand turns of tides,
just a thousand leaves in autumn, and a thousand ways to try.
Oh, a thousand,
it’s just a thousand ways to try.