(Verse 1) The wind is a comb through the emerald hair Of the valley that breathes in the mist A hollow-boned choir is waking up there By the light of the sun, pale and kissed They don't have a tongue, and they don't have a throat Just the cracks in the yellowing wood But they carry a high and a haunting note That stays where the travelers stood. (Chorus) Oh, listen to the bamboo sirens Singing low in the temple of green A symphony born of the silence And the spaces that linger between They whistle of water, they whisper of bone A lullaby sharp as a blade You think that you’re walking the path all alone But you’re caught in the song that they played. (Verse 2) Rooted in earth, but they reach for the heat Clattering ghosts in the gale They sway with the rhythm of invisible feet And a breath that is steady and frail The stalk is a pipe for the spirit to climb A flute for the ghost of the air Counting the seconds and killing the time With a beauty too heavy to bear. (Chorus) Oh, listen to the bamboo sirens Singing low in the temple of green A symphony born of the silence And the spaces that linger between They whistle of water, they whisper of bone A lullaby sharp as a blade You think that you’re walking the path all alone But you’re caught in the song that they played. (Bridge) It’s a wooden heart beating A hollow reed’s cry The sound of the fleeting Under a wide, open sky. (Outro) Don't follow the echo too deep in the grove Where the shadows are slender and long For many have wandered and many have strove To find the source of the sirens' song But it's only the wind... Only the wind... And the hollow within.
