eventually we reach the sea

the river flows and shifts its load of mud
against the current the wise do not go
some things retain the colour of old blood

i know that others worry it will flood
but this old stream is broad and very slow
the river flows and shifts its load of mud

a moment passes we know it was a dud
the ones who watch are not the ones who grow
some things retain the colour of old blood

we watch the stupid cow it chews its cud
high in the air we're looked on by a crow
the river flows and shifts its load of mud

the truth we find out falls with a dull thud
we hear the sound but do not feel the blow
some things retain the colour of old blood

the broadest leaf must start out as a bud
the ones who see this are the ones who know
the river flows and shifts its load of mud
some things retain the colour of old blood