Weatherman - Tori Amos

He is not a weatherman, but his bride lies with the land

And she will whisper to him, «I'll be dressing up in snow»

Cloaked in echo it’s almost as if only Nature knows

How to bring his wife to life and breathe her into form

«One more look

From her eyes

One more look

Can you paint her back to life?»

He knows every moor and mound, every curve of every hill

A shoulder of the mountain where they watched a thousand dawns

«One more look

From her eyes

One more look

Can you paint her back to life?»

Rising, she stirs, first it blurs a breeze that lifts

Lilac blossoms from the earth

Blending its shape to a skirt

With limbs that bend

He’s drawn toward her pirouette turn

Autumn’s peach black, winter’s velvet coat

Pink tourmaline, palette of spring

In summer she’s wrapped in Viennese green

He is not a weatherman, but his bride lies with the land

And she will whisper to him, «I'll be dressing up in snow»

Cloaked in echo it’s almost as if only Nature knows

How to paint his wife to life with every season’s tone

«One more look

From her eyes

One more look

From her eyes

One more look

From her eyes

One more look

From her eyes

One more look

From her eyes

One more look

Can you paint her back to life?»