(…)
Yeah, the trees, those useless trees produce the air that I am breathing.
Yeah, the trees, those useless trees; they never said that you were leaving.
I carved your name with a heart just up above - now swollen, distorted, unrecognisable; like our love. The smell of leaf mould & the sweetness of decay are the incense at the funeral procession here, today.
In the trees, those useless trees produce the air that I am breathing.
Yeah, the trees, those useless trees; they never said that you were leaving.
You try to shape the world to what you want the world to be.
Carving your name a thousand times won’t bring you back to me.
Oh no, no I might as well go and tell it to the trees.
Go and tell it to the trees, yeah.
Part of “The Trees”. Song by Pulp. Photo: Gilbert - Brasília / Brazil (aug.2008)
