Dry soil clings to my skin
Where the red petals begin
Digital lens catches light
Turning the grey into white
Crimson root in the deep cold ground
Where the lost and the dead are found
Hold my hand in the velvet red
Walk the path where the ghosts have led
Aconitum blooms in the shade
Where the old village laws were made
Tending the stems with a prayer
Cold winter salt in the air
Crimson root in the deep cold ground
Where the lost and the dead are found
Hold my hand in the velvet red
Walk the path where the ghosts have led
Butterfly wings on the wall
Waiting for autumn to fall
Sifting the loam for a sign
Tracing a jagged red line
Crimson root in the deep cold ground
Where the lost and the dead are found
Hold my hand in the velvet red
Walk the path where the ghosts have led
Hellebore grows by the gate
Patiently leaning on fate
I read the veins in the leaf
Counting the hours of grief
Dirt under nails and a heavy soul
Digging a wide open hole
One single seed for a sister's name
Burning a low steady flame
Iron and water and clay
Turning the midnight to day
We plant the hope in the mud
Washing the stain from the blood
Crimson root in the deep cold ground
Where the lost and the dead are found
Hold my hand in the velvet red
Walk the path where the ghosts have led
Deep in the soil
Sinking down low
Crimson root.
