[Intro, soft, close, like a private thought] The sheets are warm, The fire is low, And outside the glass The dark bells go. [Verse 1, tender, reflective] I make the beds and I scrub the floor, I know each key and each polished door, I fold the linen, I pour the tea, And mostly, life is kind to me. They speak my name with patient grace, I have my work, I have my place, A roof that holds, a lamp that stays, And quiet, decent, ordered days. But sometimes from the upstairs light, I look beyond the fence at night, Past Rowan stone, past iron towers, Back to the streets that once were ours. [Pre-Chorus, wistful, gentle rise] And I remember hunger, cold, But I remember laughter too, The kind that children keep like gold When grief is all they’re handed through. [Chorus, warm, bright, emotional] So I tie up little treasures in a kitchen cloth, A heel of bread, a sugared crust, a ribbon coming off, A bruised pear, a candle stub, a button bright as sun, And to the children of Six Towers, It shines like everyone. Gold in the kitchen cloth, Love in the hidden seam, Small enough to carry, Big enough to dream. [Verse 2, softer, more personal] Sometimes I dream my mother near, Her tired hands still warm my hair, And sometimes there’s a man there too— My father’s shape, but not in view. I try to catch his eyes, his face, But sleep is such a tender place, And when I wake he’s always gone, Like frost that leaves before the dawn. Still I keep both names inside, The ones that stayed, the ones that died, And when I braid my hair so long, I think of her and carry on. [Pre-Chorus, a little brighter] Because the heart remembers more Than empty bowls and winter weather, It keeps the hands that held it once, And learns to make a home from weather. [Chorus, fuller, sweeter] So I tie up little treasures in a kitchen cloth, A slice of pie, a broken sweet, a ribbon coming off, A warm sock, a shiny spoon, a scrap of velvet blue, And to the children of Six Towers, It feels like something new. Gold in the kitchen cloth, Hope in the apron fold, Things the rich forget to count The hungry learn to hold. [Bridge, intimate, smiling through memory] And sometimes when I slip away By servant stairs or garden wall, I find the boy with shining eyes Who still can make me laugh through all. He speaks so fine, he plays so grand, Like silk was always in his hand, But I remember alley rain, And clever jokes to soften pain. He is older now, and sharp, and strange, All velvet words and city change, But oh, beneath the polished law, He is the boy I always saw. [Breakdown, very soft, fond, almost whispered] A little bread. A little light. A little laughter in the night. A stolen moment by the gate. A friend who came back, if late. [Final Chorus, warmest and most hopeful] So I tie up little treasures in a kitchen cloth, A heel of bread, a sugared crust, a ribbon coming off, And though they’re only leftovers To hands that live in gold, To the children of Six Towers, They are stories to be told. Gold in the kitchen cloth, Love in the hidden seam, A warm bed for one girl, And enough left still to dream. [Outro, soft, peaceful] The sheets are warm, The fire is low, And outside the glass The dark bells go. But somewhere past the Rowan gate, A child is smiling in the cold. And that is reason quite enough To carry home a little gold.
