Mixed Moss

by Wild Carrot

I guess she always thought livin’ by the tracks meant that she would get somewhere; see the world.

Now she’s looking out at the falling snow from the window where she used to sit as a little girl,

When she’d sing, Hold me in the fingers of your heart, let me swing like an open door; free like the warm summer rain, I need to run, wanna fly I hear the whistle cry, and I swear someday, I’m gonna catch that train.

The sweat upon her brow, the flour on her hands have been there for a hundred years, maybe more.

Generations passed it down any dream she ever had was closed inside the old stone hearth behind the kitchen door

And she sings, Hold me in the fingers of your heart, let me swing like an open door; free like the warm summer rain, I need to run, wanna fly I hear the whistle cry, and I swear someday, I’m gonna catch that train.

So now her daughter kneads the dough and makes the earthen loaves like her mother’s mothers used to do so long ago

But her dreams are far away somewhere down the tracks if she never leaves this place then she’ll never know

Sometimes you have to leave home. Sometimes you have to run away. Sometimes the leavin’ means you’re headed in the right direction.

Now she sings, Hold me in the fingers of your heart, let me swing like an open door; free like the warm summer rain, I need to run, wanna fly I hear the whistle cry, and I swear someday, I’m gonna catch that train. 

I guess she always thought livin’ by the tracks meant that she would get somewhere; see the world.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, January 31st, 2006 at 10:19 am and is filed under Becoming. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.