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I'm the garden you plant
the son of a man
the first grain of sand
I'm the garden you plant
the son of a man
the first grain of sand

I was out in the cold
the December snow
when they closed down the roads

That's not you lying in those clothes
Just a figure of a man I used to know
You sow all the seeds and they grow into me
and now it's time for you to plant another row

I'm a half-written book
a fish on the hook
the first of two looks

I'm a broken machine
and old trampoline with some rusted out springs

I'm a bottled up note
a song you once wrote filled with old anicdotes

You're a memory from a photograph I found
A broken picture frame lying on the ground
I'm forced to believe in something that can't be
In a world that won't wait for me to come around.

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