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The seed stays dry beneath the waiting sun,
The door stays shut when day is done,
But something in me answers back and stays,
A stubborn syllable my heart replays.
I sow my seeds in salty ground each day,
The sun burns hot but nothing turns to green.
I patch the fence and keep the weeds at bay,
Yet not one sprout is ever, ever seen.
I knock on doors that never crack ajar,
I write a hundred letters, keep the best.
Each morning brings an unanswered star,
But stubborn hope keeps burning in my chest.
The seed stays dry beneath the waiting sun,
The door stays shut when day is done,
I hold a question no one turns around,
And all my wanting has no honest sound.
The seed stays dry beneath the waiting sun,
The door stays shut when day is done,
But something in me answers back and stays,
A stubborn syllable my heart replays.
I knock on doors that never crack ajar,
I write a hundred letters, keep the best.
Each morning brings an unanswered star,
But stubborn hope keeps burning in my chest.
The seed stays dry beneath the waiting sun,
The door stays shut when day is done,
I hold a question no one turns around,
And all my wanting has no honest sound.
The seed stays dry beneath the waiting sun,
The door stays shut when day is done,
But something in me answers back and stays,
A stubborn syllable my heart replays.
