Whole Wide World - The Mountain Goats

The last of the repercussions died off real slow

The sky was still and the cold sun sank down beneath the snow

I hung by my hand from the tree outside

And I looked on the whole wide world

The voices came quietly, I shut them down

A tricky young southerly wind came at me with its high whistling sound

I turned around to face it with real arrogance burning inside

And I drank in the whole wide world