Текст: Tragically Hip. As I Wind Down The Pines.

As I wind down the pines
It?s the lines on your face
Playing on your face

Without thinking so much
As abandoning thought
I went through open country

Over water, meadows, streams
Lakes and wires and roosts in reeds
To a nest in the hole of this dead tree

To play without stopping or pause
Not for silence, not for applause
Not without thinking and thinking?s abandoning thought

As I wind down the pines
It?s the lines on your face
Playing on your face