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Tree Housemp3.com/tree_house

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    "All Our Days Are Numbered"genre: World Fusion
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    Dulcitar, silver flute, and a grand piano in the middle section enhance lyrics which describe the situation of our studio complex in 2000.
    CD: Tree House   Label: Antarctica Records
    Credits: ©2000 by Tim Buchanan / John & Brenda Trevethan

    Lyrics
    ALL OUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED
    lyrics ©2000 by Timothy Buchanan


    Hackberry tree saw the buildin's a comin'
    And said to itself "My tree rings are numbered"
    "Surely I am in their way"
    "And They will cut me up into lumber"

    But the buildings sprang up along side Hackberry tree
    And the cement around it's feet was considerably poured
    The building's don't grow and so stay small
    And every year Hackberry's height does soar


    An observent bird said to the others
    "Surely our salad days are ending"
    "At the place where w e gather our food"
    "The people curse and scoul at our droppings"

    "They now have employed two owls to stand gaurd"
    "To rip us apart with their talon feet"
    But it was soon discovered the owls were plastic
    Now the big old owl eyes are all blinded by bird droppings


    In an art house people with paint pens and finger pickin'
    On walls and sound their visions they doused
    Yet their visions became blurred with dread
    When a for sale sign went up outside their house

    "Any day now they said "We shall be thrown out"
    These limitations poured from their pens and their mouths
    But the years have passed and the sign still stands
    And it's threat is somethin' they just laugh about


    Now Hackberry tree shades the owls on the art house
    And drops it's berries on the cement, e asy to find
    The birds gather the Hackberries and perch on Hackberry limbs
    And crap on cement, owls, art people and anything of anykind

    The art people paint pictures of birds, trees and owls
    And the berry-colored crapped on for sale sign

    My regard for th under is slumber
    For all our days are numbered
    Our smooth skin shall become dust, trampled asunder
    For all our days are numbered

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