You park the rig by the rusted gate.
The diesel engine breathes a heavy weight.
You see the brick and the broken glass.
Where the wild clover meets the summer grass.
Bryophyta clings to the iron beam.
A velvet carpet in a waking stream.
The concrete cracks under a steady root.
Nature is wearing a heavy boot.
Slow down your heart to the rhythm of loam.
Where the wild ivy finds a permanent home.
Green steel bloom in the industrial gray.
Watching the city just wither away.
You smell the peat and the damp river air.
The scent of patience is everywhere.
Taraxacum breaks the asphalt seal.
Life is more honest than a spinning wheel.
Slow down your heart to the rhythm of loam.
Where the wild ivy finds a permanent home.
Green steel bloom in the industrial gray.
Watching the city just wither away.
The gear shift clicks in the quiet night.
The distant towers lose their golden light.
Wait for the seed to wake up from the sleep.
The promises that the deep soil will keep.
You track the veins of a climbing vine.
Drawing a soft and a delicate line.
The rusted crane is a trellis of gold.
A story that the old forests have told.
You touch the leaf with a calloused hand.
The rightful owner of a forgotten land.
No more schedules and no more heavy load.
Just a green garden on a lonely road.
Slow down your heart to the rhythm of loam.
Where the wild ivy finds a permanent home.
Green steel bloom in the industrial gray.
Watching the city just wither away.
Green steel bloom.
Rooted and true.
Green steel bloom.
