[Verse 1] (Single boot heel thud, sparse minor banjo pluck) Broke the clay and dug the hole alone, Set the roots down deep beneath the stone. Spite stood watching, bitter at the start, Mocking every inch of work and heart. Now the green is breaking into rose, Petals open where the cold wind blows. [Chorus] (Heavy porch stomp enters, low droning slide) Pile on the dirt, throw on the stone, Everything buried grows straight to the bone. You smile for the fence and you claim the view, Taking credit for what never came from you. The ground just feeds what you try to break, Every single blow makes the sleeper wake. [Verse 2] (Stomp continues, banjo picks up an aggressive clawhammer roll) Now the sidewalk stops to watch it bloom, Strangers talking while you take the room. "Thank you kindly," rolling off your tongue, Feasting on the work somebody done. Never say the name that held the spade, Basking in the light you couldn't make. [Verse 3] (Rhythm tightens, banjo strikes sharp high dissonance) None of it matters on the mortal floor, I don't look behind the heavy door. Every strike just burns away the grain, Pushes understanding through the pain. Climbing higher past the petty noise, Nothing left to balance on your scales and toys. [Outro] (Instruments cut to lone wooden porch stomp and dry banjo ring) Let the thorns set. Let the pink show. Throw the dirt down. Watch it grow. (Pause) Higher. Out of reach.
