Testi:
Jethro Tull Roots To Branches

Small child messing down, messing down. in the streets of Bombay. Cities like this have no shame, no shame; indeed, why should they? Out in the middle

Desert candle in a tented space throwing softer shadows on a covered face. Sister, silent to the likes of me Pay my respects to her propriety. Is

the faces cut in unmoving stone. Bad mouth on a prayer day, hope no one's listening. Roots down in the wet clay, branches glistening. True disciples

Brings jasmine tea on a painted tray and bends to kiss my frown away. But I'm still still stuck in the August rain; stuck out in the cloudburst once

A walk on the quiet side, late in the day Don't mean to get in anybody's way. The Gods seem willing: sun's in the sky. Old crows cawing as the straight

the faces cut in unmoving stone. Bad mouth on a prayer day, hope no one's listening. Roots down in the wet clay, branches glistening. True disciples

Wet wind on the sidewalk, I'm starin' at the rain Walkin' up the street, yeah and walkin' down again And my feet are tired and my brain is numb See that

Small child messing down, messing down In the streets of Bombay Cities like this have no shame, no shame Indeed, why should they? Out in the middle distance

Glued to the kerbstone, staring Frozen at the stopsign too See that crazy suicide mongrel He's gonna try to clear that avenue Old dog of experience Ripping