[Verse 1] Skipping rocks like skipping days— back when summer felt as though it might never move. Crank-windows stuck, radio humming low. He dipped a pan in the creek bed, winked and said, “Boy, this water remembers every grain of dust it’s ever carried, every vein of gold it’s ever cut.” Rivers run through me, cutting their lines in my sleep. All that I’ve sought, all that I keep— every dark bend, every promise in the deep. Rivers run through me. [Verse 2] College town by a wider stream, steel-gray flow, timber barges, soot, and trains. I learned to chase the flash of color long before I learned how to remain. You were there with your boots half-laced, laughing loud, holding up a speck of shine. We shared a flask on the concrete bank, dreaming of a seam that would pay us back in time. Rivers run through me, cutting their lines in my sleep. All that I’ve claimed, all that I mean— every soft vow, every strike in-between. Rivers run through me. [Verse 3] I thought I could dam it— build my walls high, lock the treasure down, rule my own town. But the current keeps calling: soft at first, then a roar, then a drown. Got a kid now with your crooked smile, plastic pail, tiny bare feet. He picks up a smooth, yellow stone where the river disappears under the street. I kneel down in the cold silt, feel the pull— mud on my knee, throat full. Rivers run through me, cutting their lines in my sleep. All that I’ve hurt, all that I’ve healed— every true fortune I tried to conceal. Rivers run through me. [Verse 4] From the melt of distant snowcaps to the mouths of quiet bays, every streak of yellow gravel falls in line like heavy rain. All the riches I have fallen for, the claims I couldn’t win— they are washed into the shoreline of the person I have been. One day I’ll be ash and silt, folded deep into a dark green bank. Let the kids tell stories, half wrong, half right, about the gold I chased and the real wealth I forgot to thank. Rivers run through me, cutting their lines in my sleep. All that I was, all that remains— every bright joy braided with pain. Rivers run through me. [Outro] Long after my name is gone and the stones forget my feet, something of me keeps moving on— under roots, under roads, under fields of wheat. Rivers run through me. Rivers run to sea.
