Words get written. Words get twisted.
Old meanings move in the drift of time
Lift the flickering torches.
See gentle shadows change
the features of the faces
cut in unmoving stone
Bad mouth on a prayer day, hope no one's listening.
Roots down in the wet clay, branches glistening.
Riff
Roots to Branches.
Roots to Branches.
Roots to Branches.
Roots to Branches.
Roots to Branches.
Roots to Branches.
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