A stick, a stone, it's the end of the road

It's the rest of a stump, it's a little alone

It's a sliver of glass, it is life, it's the sun

It is night, it is death, it's a trap, it's a gun

The oak when it blooms

A fox in the brush, the knot in the wood

The song of a thrush, the wood of the wind

A cliff, a fall, a scratch, a lump, it is nothing at all

It's the wind blowing free, it's the end of a slope

It's a beam, it's a void, it's a hunch, it's a hope

And the riverbank talks of the waters of March

It's the end of all strain, it's the joy in your heart

The foot, the ground, the flesh and the bone

The beat of the road, a slingshot stone

A fish, a flash, a silvery glow

A fight, a bet, the range of a bow

The bed of the well, the end of the line

The dismay in the face, it's a loss, it's a find

A spear, a spike, a point, a nail

A drip, a drop, the end of the tale

A truckload of bricks, in the soft morning light

The shot of a gun in the dead of the night

A mile, a must, a thrust, a bump

It's a girl, it's a rhyme, it's a cold, it's the mumps

The plan of the house the body in bed

And the car that got stuck, it's the mud, it's the mud

A float, a drift, a flight, a wing

A hawk, a quail, the promise of spring

And the riverbank talks of the waters of March

It's the end of all strain, it's the joy in your heart

A snake, a stick, it is John, it is Joe

It's a thorn in your hand or a cut on your toe

A point, a grain, a bee, a bite, a blink, a buzzard

A sudden stroke of night

A pin, a needle, a sting, a pain

A snail, a riddle, a wasp, a stain

A pass in the mountains, a horse and a mule

In the distance the shelves, grow three shadows of blue

And the riverbank talks of the waters of March

It's the promise of life in your heart, in your heart

A stick, a stone, the end of the load

The rest of the stump, a lonesome road

A sliver of glass, a life, a sun

A night, a death, the end of the run

And the riverbank talks of the waters of March

It's the end of all strain, it's the joy in your heart