When the last of the repercussions
Died off real slow
The sky was still
And the cold sun sank down beneath the snow
I hung by my hand from the tree outside
And I looked on the whole wide world
When the voices came quietly
I shut them down
When a tricky young southerly wind
Came at me with its high whistling sound
I turned around to face it
With real arrogance burning inside
And I drank in the whole wide world