Holy Smoke

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I sigh with every breath I'm breathing
It's some kind of holy smoke that I believe
Will take me on my way
Some hobo - the dust on my old boots is settling
And I'm slowly growing roots I said
Would never tidy me away

Uhoh, uhoh, uhoh, uhoh
I do remember what an old friend told me
He said "don't you go worrying about me,
I'm only sad as I want to be"

Well that's as maybe, but do I want to be like trees
Who stand round in freezing fog just waiting
For the spring to come for me?
Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh noo

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Vashti Bunyan en Noviembre