My father's stories fell upon us
Filled us with his light
Gospels, fertile minds
Taking root, taking rootHis pocket change would jingle
Sacramental bells
Heads tucked low
Sneaking peaks, sneaking peaksAnd the rain comes down
It's dark, and the browns
Begin to bite
Here you will always be
Behind me, and you will not go awayThere he sleeps, an untamed land
Dark corners yet discoveredHis heart yet to be
Trod upon, trod uponI can't bare to hear his breathing
Simply knowing what's to comeI can't bare to hear your breathing
Knowing what's to come
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