Track Insight / Lyrics
He walks where the gray fog rolls in,
With peat on his sleeve and his skin.
He speaks to the ferns in the breeze,
With a slow and a botanical ease.
Oh the bay is a cold kind of blue,
And the Monstera needs a new dew.
He drifts where the salt meets the shore,
Searching for something a little bit more.
He names every leaf by its trait,
While the ferry is running quite late.
He hums to a small Calathea,
With a wry and a quiet panacea.
Oh the bay is a cold kind of blue,
And the Monstera needs a new dew.
He drifts where the salt meets the shore,
Searching for something a little bit more.
The pier is a stretch of old pine,
Where the mist and the waterline twine.
He checks for a blight on the stem,
Treating each little sprout like a gem.
The p
H is off in the air,
A salty and heavy despair.
But he knows how to prune and to wait,
While he locks the greenhouse iron gate.
He carries a bag of rich loam,
Far away from his glass-covered home.
He tells the redwoods to stand tall,
Before the late autumn leaves start to fall.
Oh the bay is a cold kind of blue,
And the Monstera needs a new dew.
He drifts where the salt meets the shore,
Searching for something a little bit more.
He laughs at the wind in his face,
Moving with a slow gardener's pace.
His fingers are stained by the mud,
Waiting for the first winter bud.
Oh the bay is a cold kind of blue,
And the Monstera needs a new dew.
He drifts where the salt meets the shore,
Searching for something a little bit more.
Just salt and soil in the gray.
A long walk back to the bay.
