The rocks on the mountain (that's the problem with problems)

THE ROCKS ON THE MOUNTAIN (D A D F G E)

 

That’s the problem with problems; they never go away. That’s the problems with sunlight; you only see it in the day. That’s the problem with pressure; it’s always in your face. The pressure gets better but it never goes away. That’s the problem with problems; you never see them clear. That’s the problem with people; they’re never really here. That’s the problem with asking, because no one really knows. That’s the problem with telling.

 

Deep in the night I lay quiet and still and a clear moon rises and shines through my door and when daylight comes on a route with no path, through jagged rocks and spreading mists, across red mountains and azure streams, into the sight of a pine, barefoot on the path, in water splashing and billowing winds, in light in brilliant disarray. And life is just so easy to love.

 

That’s the problem with problems; they never go away. That’s the problems with sunlight; you only see it in the day. That’s the problem with pressure; it’s always in your face. The pressure gets better but you never deflate. That’s the problem with problems; you never see them clear. That’s the problem with people; they’re never really here. That’s the problem with asking, because no one really knows. That’s the problem with telling.

 

That’s the problem with problems.

 

And life is just so easy to love.