| And this is where we fall
|
| Sleepers scattered in the soil
|
| A finger deep, dragged through the ground
|
| A blessed thought in harrowed halls
|
| We could think of nothing else
|
| Than what our patch of earth contained
|
| Reminded by our dirt-stained clothes
|
| Of planted possibility
|
| In tender ground, as bare as birth
|
| A shoot emerged from beneath the earth
|
| Mary, Mary
|
| Tell me how your garden grows
|
| Tell me what it takes to come alive
|
| To see what you have sown
|
| Because I’ve grown into the ground
|
| And there are branches in my bones
|
| I am overgrown
|
| I am overgrown
|
| Between two branches, a rope and tire we cast
|
| Between two worlds, each one higher than the last
|
| I chose the air, chose higher still and left an Eden found
|
| But in abandon, lost my grip, and shattered, chose the ground
|
| In unkept chaos, as bare as birth
|
| A garden, grey of tangled earth
|
| Mary, Mary
|
| Tell me how your garden grows
|
| Tell me what it takes to come alive
|
| To see what you have sown
|
| Because I’ve grown into the ground
|
| And there are branches in my bones
|
| I am overgrown
|
| I’ve been lying here too long
|
| The branches pushing me apart where weakness showed
|
| Then September swept the overcast aside
|
| Dusted off the winter’s curse
|
| As she cut me through like knives
|
| She whistled proudly her season’s song
|
| And showed me that I was alive all along
|
| Mary, Mary
|
| Tell me how your garden grows
|
| Tell me what it takes to come alive
|
| To see what you have sown
|
| Because I’ve grown into the ground
|
| And there are branches in my bones
|
| I am overgrown
|
| I am overgrown |