You can see me anytime you need me
Warm beyond a reason, night is on the wing
And you could linger like a grind of ginger
Making love a season, heating up the skin
You can water me with tears of hunger
Like the wheat in winter, pressed into a bed
Like a handprint, flour upon a black dress
White against the darkness, leavened into bread
We are not our gravest deeds; you are not your grieving
For the bravest flower seeds as the birds are leaving
As the thin glow of summer's death will turn the leaves to red
May the wind blow like a lover's breath, still warm as gingerbread
Dreams are kneaded into walls and windows
Sheltering our sorrows, dusted and adorned
With the sweetness of some kind tomorrows
Sugars in completeness, nested into form
We are not our gravest deeds; you are not your grieving
For the bravest flower seeds as the birds are leaving
As the thin glow of summer's death will turn the leaves to red
May the wind blow like a lover's breath, still warm as gingerbread
And while the black sky spreads its myth of thunder
That we labor under, reckoned by the dead
These are crude thanks, charity and food banks
For our harvest splendor, pepper for our bread
We are not our gravest deeds; you are not your grieving
For the bravest flower seeds as the birds are leaving
As the thin glow of summer's death will turn the leaves to red
May the wind blow like a lover's breath, still warm as gingerbread
We are not our gravest deeds; you are not your grieving
For the bravest flower seeds as the birds are leaving
As the thin glow of summer's death will turn the leaves to red
May the wind blow like a lover's breath, still warm as gingerbread