History

Soaking in your history

I climbed that hill every Sunday

Cutting my knee on the thorns

Dripping like crushed raspberry

Picked just before this fall

Soak the wound in salt

Wound in salt

Bathed In salt

Bathed in salt

Soaking in your history

Revel in the infancy

We climb that hill again today

But the brambles have withdrawn

The skies call in the cavalry

Swollen clouds begin assault

We surrender it all

Succumb to all

Succumb to all

Succumb to all

Soaking in your history

Revel in the infancy

Soaking in your history

Revel in the infancy