Deep green hills whose shoulders fade, into the gray tall wet grass.
Whose flesh makes fools of grazing sheep, whose fleecing makes a fool of me.

And who shall I blame for this sweet and heavy trouble?
For every stupid struggle?
I don't know.
I could buy you a drink.
I could tell you all about it.
I could tell you why I doubt it, and why I still believe.

But I can't say it like I sing it.
And I can't sing it like I think it.
And I can't think it like I feel it.
And I don't feel a thing.
Oh no - I don't feel a thing.

And who shall I blame for this sweet and heavy trouble?
For every stupid struggle?
I don't know.
I could buy you a drink.
I could tell you all about it.
I could tell you why I doubt it, and why I still believe it.
And why I need it.
And what the pharisees don't see.

And we'd have more drinks. We'd speak of so many things.
But I don't know you, and you don't know me.