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It's been ten years since that lonely day I left you
In the morning rain, smoking gun in hand
Ten lonely years but how my heart, it still remembers
Pray for me, momma, I'm a gypsy now -
May we raise children who love the unloved things - the dandelion, the worm, the spiderlings.
Children who sense the rose needs the thorn and run into rainswept days the same way they turn towards the sun...
And when they're grown and someone has to speak for those who have no voice,
may they draw upon that wilder bond, those days of tending tender things and be the one.
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