When she drops in town a little handkerchief
he picks it up for her,
although he's not a prince of charm
Now she stands upon his shoulders
and looks across the garden
and sees the oak behind the farm

I'm up here in the waving tree
I feel my mother looks at me
She is living near to the bone

There were times when she was so beautiful;
she's dancing with my uncles.
Her hair was darker then this house.
Although it's true that she was proud of him,
standing on his shoulders
she saw the lights of other towns

On Friday night she took the train
And Sunday she is back again
Bringing home stories near the bone

Boy in a tree
Boy in a tree
Boy in a tree
He's been looking round and round and round

The mirror shows another day
She's 40 years or older
Her hair will fade from black to grey
She drives and drives through the night,
a parrot on her shoulder,
until the darkness goes away

She's standing near the waving tree
Looking up she talks to me
All I hear is the wind in the leaves

Boy in a tree
Boy in a tree
Boy in a tree
He's been looking round and round and round
Boy in a tree
Boy in a tree
He's been looking round and round and round
Boy in a tree

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