The dust is a dancer, a soft-spoken answer to the rust You’re a seed in the sorrow, begging tomorrow to be just The tether is leather, a change in the weather of your chest Leave the weight in the meadow, step from the shadow, leave the nest The stillness is a shiver, a slow-moving river through the pine The soil is a liar, a cold-burning fire on the vine! The wind is a mother, a soft-winding brother to the leaf The ache is the anchor, a venomous banker of your grief. Run, run. Let the gravel and the travel begin Run, run. Let the shivering river sink in The winter will splinter, the shadows will enter the sea Run, run. To the skin where you're meant to be. Run. Warm blood on the timber, the ash growing limber in the grate You’re holding a letter, hoping it’s better than your fate Walking the withering, slithering root of the vine The tear is a potion, a freezing emotion by design You are the feather, the tether, the weather of the sky The flight is a right for the bird too afraid to fly. The anchor is sinking... (Run) The forest is waking... (Run) The morning is breaking... (Run) The fear is forsaking... (Run) Run, run. Let the gravel and the travel begin Run, run. Let the shivering river sink in The winter will splinter, the shadows will enter the sea Run, run. To the skin where you're meant to be. Run. Don’t look back. Just run.
