My father's stories fell upon us

Filled us with his light

Gospels, fertile minds

Taking root, taking root



His pocket change would jingle

Sacramental bells

Heads tucked low

Sneaking peaks, sneaking peaks



And 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 away



There he sleeps, an untamed land

Dark corners yet discovered



His heart yet to be

Trod upon, trod upon



I can't bare to hear his breathing

Simply knowing what's to come



I can't bare to hear your breathing

Knowing what's to come