A song for today

I took an air-rifle, shot a magpie to the ground
& it died without a sound.
Your skin so pale against the fallen Autumn leaves
& no-one saw us but the trees.

Yeah, the trees, those useless trees
produce the air that I am breathing.
Yeah, the trees, those useless trees;
they never said that you were leaving.

I carved your name with a heart just up above -
now swollen, distorted, unrecognisable;
like our love.
The smell of leaf mould
& the sweetness of decay are the incense
at the funeral procession here, today.

The trees, those useless trees
produce the air that I am breathing.
Yeah, the trees, those useless trees;
they never said that you were leaving.

You try to shape the world to what you want the world to be.
Carving your name a thousand times
won`t bring you back to me.
Oh no, no
I might as well go
& tell it to the trees.
Go & tell it to the trees, yeah.

Pulp