simple hope fostered
It has always been true that beautiful things grow where we let them.
The calling card of a passing
is a note written on broken back
Stealing faith and lifetimes
informing you of what you now lack
As if you could ever cease to believe in what you knew
As if you could ever let completely go of what you grew
To root
To ash
To seed
Gone.
(gone, gone, gone)
The echo separate. The toll erased.
The hole felt material, in both time and space
What you were told, and what you intuited
What you lost, and what you gained
They'll say he really loved you
and you'll say, he really does.
And knowing this will always be
life; that's all it was.