Impressions stay within the grain, times of love, hate, and pain; In this old house our lives are like echoing words. We’re coming home, we’re turning ’round seeing how it feels to be on this ground, when standing here in reverence to all that I feel, she said, “Oh just don’t listen to your head you must be strong.” Our footsteps stay within the snow, frozen to the stones the won’t let go; the weight of the past was pulling me under the ground, when She said, “How many years can fill a head? Tomorrow is long.” Don’t say those words, they make me bleed, there’s something here, something that I really need. Like the echoes that circle the sky , or a visin burnt into my eye, something in the air, something in the air won’t die. Within the clay there is a man, you moulded me and here I stand where we belong; our roots grow so deep in the soil. I watch her move, like yesterday, and the old films begin to play; with fingertips I trace the dust of our years, when she said “Oh just don’t listen to your head; you must be strong.” So don’t say these words, they make me bleed, there’s something here , something that I really need. like the echoes that circle the sky, or a vision burnt into my eye, something in the air, something in the air won’t die.