He walks the path of weathered stone
A maple leaf falls all alone
The Acer rubrum turns to gold
A story that the city told
Rooted deep in the Boston clay
Waiting for the light of day
Red brick road and a wooden bow
Watching how the slow seeds grow
His fingers press the silver string
He makes the dusty pavement sing
Between the cracks a clover creeps
While the heavy city sleeps
Rooted deep in the Boston clay
Waiting for the light of day
Red brick road and a wooden bow
Watching how the slow seeds grow
He remembers how the soil felt
Before the winter frosting melt
A steady hand, a patient mind
The kind of peace he had to find
Rooted deep in the Boston clay
Waiting for the light of day
Red brick road and a wooden bow
Watching how the slow seeds grow
He plays a chord of salted air
The autumn wind is in his hair
The brownstone walls are tall and grey
He plays the ghosts of yesterday
Sift the loam and clear the weed
Patience is the only seed
Digging down to find the core
Stronger than he was before
The case is worn and lined with blue
A weathered soul with a point of view
He bows his head to the frozen ground
Where the hidden life is found
Rooted deep in the Boston clay
Waiting for the light of day
Red brick road and a wooden bow
Watching how the slow seeds grow
Deep in the clay.
Just let it grow.
Red brick root.
