As I wind down the pines
   it?s the lines on your face
   playing on your face
  
   Without thinking so much
   as abandoning thought
   I went through open country
   over water meadows streams
   lakes and wires and roosts in reeds
   to a nest in the hole of
   this dead
   tree.
  
   To play without stopping or pause
   not for silence not for applause
   not without thinking
   and thinking?s abandoning thought
  
   As I wind down the pines
   it?s the lines on your face
   playing on your face