I am the brick in the old city wall.
Watching the autumn leaves flutter and fall.
Vines wrap my shoulder in velvet and green.
The wildest garden that I've ever seen.
Green gold is breaking the gray of the street.
Wild clover dancing beneath heavy feet.
Rusted old metal is turning to gold.
A story of hunger and beauty untold.
A rusted sedan is a bed for the moss.
Counting the years and the heavy old loss.
Ivy is climbing the glass of the door.
Taking the ceiling and claiming the floor.
I feel the roots digging deep in my skin.
Where the old city ends and the forest begins.
Shattered red tiles make a path for the seed.
Giving the wild every thing that they need.
Green gold is breaking the gray of the street.
Wild clover dancing beneath heavy feet.
Rusted old metal is turning to gold.
A story of hunger and beauty untold.
The asphalt is cracking like old dried out clay.
The colors are stealing the city away.
No more loud sirens or rush of the crowd.
Just the green canopy singing out loud.
The lens of a camera captures the view.
Painting the wreckage in shades of a dew.
A girl with a backpack is stopping to stare.
Taking a snapshot of wild clover air.
Green gold is breaking the gray of the street.
Wild clover dancing beneath heavy feet.
Rusted old metal is turning to gold.
A story of hunger and beauty untold.
Watch it all grow.
Concrete bloom.
Just let it grow.
Concrete bloom.
