Dead Leaves Lyrics

As the world makes it rounds

Let the wind make the sound

And our door open-bound

To let in the dead leaves

In our house she walks

And to me she talks

Towards the garden she flocks

To feel the dead flowers

In our house we sing

All the notes we bring

Harmonies, intertwined thing

Sing songs of dead poets

With soft hands, pack the fruit

All the food in a towel suit

And with my hands I'll peel the fruit

And bring her the peeled oranges