Written by: David Byrne

Low in the valley a voice grumbles
In a melancholic tone, baritone
Like a wounded beast moaning in the night
So lonely, makes one wonder about things

Higher still, the same melody repeats
Echoes through the trees and ruffles the leaves
Alto horn I should think, calmer like mist
I am loping with the beast in my mind

Then strings enter the scene, quietly first
Creeping up on us, like adrenal lush
Deep snorts breaking the air, our hooves trundle
Higher we wonder, and the piccolo 

The crescendo is near, as the dawn breaks
Things of wonder echo alone inside