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D A G D A  D G D A  D A D

D                G
The jacaranda are wet with color,
        D                            A
and the heat is a great paint brush, lending color to our lives,
     D                                G
to the air, and to out faces; but I'm going to Alaska
              D                         A
where there's snow to suck the sound out from the air.

Dsus D

D       G
Up, yes, in the branches,
D                       A
the purple blossoms, go pale at the edges;
         D                              G
there is moaning in the shifting of the sap, and I see in them traces
D                           A
of last year, but then they hadn't grown so strong,
D                                    G
and their limbs were more like wires. Now they are cables.
D                           A                    D
thick and alive with alien electricity, and I am going to Alaska,
     G                         D
where you can go blind just by looking at the ground,
A
where fat is eaten by itself
Dsus                         D
just to keep your body warm.

D                         G
Because from where we are now, it seems, really,
    D                           A
that everything is growing in a thousand different ways;
D                                        G
that the soil is soaked through with old blood and with relatives
D                                           A
who were buried here, or close to here, and they are giving rise
D                                G
to what is happening. Or can you tell me otherwise?
     D                          A
I am going to Alaska, where the animals can kill you,
        D                     G
but they do so in silence, as though if no-one hears them,
        D                         A
then it really won't matter. I am going to Alaska.
Dsus                                D
They tell me that it's perfect for my purposes.

D G D A

D G D A... D... D down D up!