He's known the wind against its face
And place it firmly on the softest ground.
Throw around the pole a cloak of patterns curious
That catch the sun
And turn the eye away from what is true.
Paint upon its face a smile
That never questions why
And crown it with a high hat made of straw.
And when the evening creeps into your eyes
You leave it for the world to see
This sad reflection name it vanity.

Hear the voices talking
Though their lips are barely moving
Yet their words are cutting quick
To find the softest ground.
Twisting in their broken flight
To catch the dreams you cast aside
To bring them once again before your eyes.
Raise the Scarecrow to their lips
That stiffen
And then turn away
To leave you thankful
Breathless if alone.
And though you are too real to disappear
You sink again into your bones
And leave the Scarecrow to the World.

Take a beanpole that has felt the seasons change
He's known the wind against its face
And place it firmly on the softest ground.
Throw around the pole a cloak of patterns curious
That catch the sun
And turn the eye away from what is true.
In its hands you place your bitter tears
Its legs will be your broken dreams
Swaying from the gibbert of contempt.
And when you seek for gentle words
You'll find its shadow reappears
To shield you from
The tenderness of love