You walk the tiles in a slow glide
The kettle hums by the white wall
The morning air is a cold tide
You wait for the heavy rain to fall
You trace the edges of the room
While the green leaves start to bloom
The steam is rising in a line
You make the quiet moment mine
You bring the scent of the wet dirt
The coffee drips in a glass pot
Your cotton sleeve is a soft shirt
You give me everything you got
The iron pan has a deep glow
The butter melts on the brown toast
The clock is ticking very slow
The kind of peace I need the most
You trace the edges of the room
While the green leaves start to bloom
The steam is rising in a line
You make the quiet moment mine
The soil is under every nail
The tea is steeping in the cup
The winter wind begins to wail
But here the hope is waking up
You lean your back on the wood door
The sugar bowl is almost dry
You leave your prints on the stone floor
Under a pale and lemon sky
You trace the edges of the room
While the green leaves start to bloom
The steam is rising in a line
You make the quiet moment mine
Just a little bit of sugar.
Keep the kettle on.
Stay a while.
