Rookery - Ben Howard

Birch tree lost its branch one day in violent winter

I said it was grieving, you said it don’t feel nothing

I bet you think everything’s in its rightful place

That sentiment is man’s disgrace

Well the rooks in the trees, they don’t half bother me

Clawing at my mind with every given opportunity

It’s spring outside, a perilous sky and that terrible clattering sound

«Go ahead, you should go shoot them down»

That’s what you said, «You should go shoot them down»

So hey, that’s me

Shooting at a hundred-year-old rookery

Oh, look at me

The definition of futility

That’s what they’ll say anyway

Won’t they, babe?

So I’ll go back to working through the gentle hours of the evening

Where the weather and the wine and the company treat me easily

Unknowing am I of the wind that took my eye

Unknowing am I of the wind

Unknowing am I of the wind that took my eye

Unknowing am I of the wind