Studying the climate of the little ice age
Under the fellowship of the national science foundation
Donald Currey comes to believe the pines on the White Mountain
Are older than previously thought
Only here can he know
How the weather goed
Seven hundred years before
Searching for the oldest living bristlecones
On a former glacier in the Snake Ridge of Old Nevada
Quite unwitting Donald Currey felled the tree he sought
To gain a complete cross-section
Only when it was dead
Did he know he had
What he was looking for
Don't you see me?
I'm on the edge, I'm on the edge
Don't you hear me?
I'm on the edge, I'm peeking over
Don't you feel me?
I'm on the edge, I'm on the edge, I'm on the edge
Blowing down the mountainside
Look to the air and you'll find me there
Whistling through your clothes
Rib cage, blossoming in the snow
After your insides have made a feast
For the jackals and the crows
Your song will echo down below
Don't you see me?
I'm on the edge, I'm on the edge
Don't you hear me?
I'm on the edge, I'm peeking over
Don't you feel me?
I'm on the edge, I'm on the edge, I'm on the edge
Blowing down the mountainside
After the death of Methuselah
The orange clouds will grow
Bad dreams, full of lightning
The sea has gone in the forest
Carried him up the sticks, on the frogs
Wolf pack, swimming through the fog
Prometheus stole fire from the gods and gave to mankind
Enabling the onset of civilization
He was bound to a rock
And an eagle would feed on his liver each day
It's the seat of all human emotion
Only when you are dead
Will you know you had
What you were looking for