Into their hearts we grow

And I suppose its the white dress and the rain

That melts it into the soil to regrow me insane.

Oh its hard to plant the night and bury the day.

But the leaves keep piling around every word i pray.

Their tears flood the rivers and break down the doors

The worries find  their resting place in the cracks of the floors.

With my confidence and every page in the history books torn,

For our grandchildren and theirs we fill it in with our very own.