Soles

We'll stitch them And make each wool sleeve filthier Sew each hem, Then run your hands into the dirt Each grass stain Makes your legs all the more your own To walk on The feet that we have weaved and sewn Our homes were All brittle bones and brittle knees We're running, We'll stagger in these redwood trees No judgment Except the times when we will steal No sleep now We'll gather in the windswept fields