These New Puritans

Some of these trees have been growing for years
The leaves on the floor must be five metres deep
The paths are a labyrinth or even a trap
Some tides don't turn some things never come back.
Secret recordings were made in the marsh
I bore a hole in the tree just to see
Knights dance in molecules, here's Gallahad
They're rising back up, they're rising back up.
Shadows dance back up, it's happening again