I could never build the ether | Or the grass overgrown | I could never build the river | With a mouthful of foam | I could never build the winter | With her cold tears of glitter | I've been listening to the red oak | And the acorn she cries | Listening to the white birch | And the paper she dries | I've been listening to the frog's joke | Listening to the firesmoke | I can never tell you now | What I'd often said before | Because promise is a pendulum | Just swinging at the door | And I'm not saying I'm not jealous | Or scared anymore | I'm just saying | I could never build a rainbow | Or any kind of flower | I could never make a sparrow | Or a meteor shower | I could never build an earthworm | Could never make the earth turn | I've been listening to the laughing | Of the fox down the trail | I've been clasping to the listening of the moss to the snail | The shimmer of the beech leaves | As the wind does a big sneeze | I could never tell you now | What I'd often said before | Because promise is a pendulum | Just swinging at the door | And I'm not saying I'm not jealous | Or scared anymore | I'm just saying | I could never build the shadow | Between your cheek and your eye | I could never make a freckle or the warm breath you sigh | In the canopy of lashes | With the softness of ashes | I've been listening to the memory | The way that it was | Listening to the echo of whys and because | Listening to the echo | Telling me to let go | I could never tell you now | What I'd often said before | Because promise is a pendulum | Just hanging at the door | And I'm not saying I'm not jealous | Or scared anymore | I'm just saying | Saying