Flytipping

We'll play on the road Flytipping, careful as you go And we'll watch as the lorries Transport their precious loads With a bag in our hands Flytipping, me and my patient man Just by the hard shoulder This few who've understood What is my name, what is yours? Do we own these things, what has it all been for? Flytipping on the road of course What is yours and what is us? Do we fool ourselves with all those pretty words? Flytipping on the road with her And I'll take you to the Fir trees As the paper drifts like falling snow Under the trees Two hunters looking for ivory Discard their possessions, cast them to the breeze 'Cause the worms in the ground And the crows as they circle round Don't need these things to cling to For a homestead playground What is my name, what is yours? Do we own these things, what has it all been for? Flytipping on the road of course Shiny things that turn into rust So we show ourselves with all this pretty stuff Flytipping feels like just enough And I'll take you to the verges By the nettles, by the roundabout And I'll pick you wild roses In the tunnels like the underpass