Deep green hills whose shoulders fade, into the gray tall wet grass.

Whose flesh makes fools of grazing sheep, whose fleecing makes a fool of me.



And who shall I blame for this sweet and heavy trouble? 

For every stupid struggle? 

I don't know.

I could buy you a drink.

I could tell you all about it.

I could tell you why I doubt it, and why I still believe.



But I can't say it like I sing it.

And I can't sing it like I think it.

And I can't think it like I feel it.

And I don't feel a thing.

Oh no - I don't feel a thing.



And who shall I blame for this sweet and heavy trouble? 

For every stupid struggle? 

I don't know.

I could buy you a drink.

I could tell you all about it.

I could tell you why I doubt it, and why I still believe it.

And why I need it.

And what the pharasies don't see.



And we'd have more drinks. We'd speak of so many things.

But I don't know you, and you don't know me.