Echoes in Clay (Irma)

(Verse 1) I shape the clay with trembling hands, Trying to bring back all that stands. In echoes, whispers, lost to time, A form, a face—forever mine. The earth remembers what I forget, In every curve, a silhouette. But no matter how I try, I cannot call back what’s gone by. (Chorus) Echoes in clay, a fleeting touch, Of a life that meant so much. In the quiet, I still create, But what’s lost, I can’t recreate. Echoes in clay, a fragile mold, I shape the past, though it grows cold. (Verse 2) I trace the lines, I trace the years, But in the silence, I find my fears. Would their hands have shaped this way? Would their power carry the day? I speak no name, I leave no trace, For fear of waking time’s embrace. But in each piece, I still recall, The grace that stood before the fall. (Chorus) Echoes in clay, a fleeting touch, Of a life that meant so much. In the quiet, I still create, But what’s lost, I can’t recreate. Echoes in clay, a fragile mold, I shape the past, though it grows cold. (Bridge) If only hands could shape the soul, Or bring back what time once stole. But all I have are empty forms, That hold no light to keep them warm. (Chorus) Echoes in clay, a fleeting touch, Of a life that meant so much. In the quiet, I still create, But what’s lost, I can’t recreate. Echoes in clay, a fragile mold, I shape the past, though it grows cold. (Outro) In every curve, a memory stays, But still, they slip through hollowed days. Echoes in clay, a touch so faint, A life I’ll carve, but never paint.