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The garden gate is half rusted away
I still press new seeds into the clay
Each morning I walk the broken row
And whisper a name the wind won’t know
The sun beats down like an unkind friend
I water all the spots where hope should bend
The soil drinks it up without a sound
And the fields keep staring at the ground
I press another seed into the dry clay
I lift my eyes toward a stubborn gray
And the trust in me begins to crack
I plant another seed but nothing calls back
I press another seed into the dry clay
I lift my eyes toward a stubborn gray
And the green in my heart turns black
From the lack of a soft hand coming back
The sun beats down like an unkind friend
I water all the spots where hope should bend
The soil drinks it up without a sound
And the fields keep staring at the ground
I press another seed into the dry clay
I lift my eyes toward a stubborn gray
And the trust in me begins to crack
I plant another seed but nothing calls back
I press another seed into the dry clay
I lift my eyes toward a stubborn gray
And the green in my heart turns black
From the lack of a soft hand coming back
