I don't want to grow anything in my heart

I don't want to write all these things in the sand

I don't wish to listen and not understand

I don't want to tramp up the footpath of stars

don't want to be an advocate

don't want to be a monument



There is nothing that grows in your arctic world



I don't want to breathe that Smithsonian air

I don' want to listen when they toll the bell

'cos I can't take another industrial feast

on the ground, on my back, out there

I want to meet the president

of a country without sense



There is nothing that grows in his arctic world

there is nothing that grows in your arctic world

there is nothing that grows in this arctic world