I am the hook and the nylon thread
Waiting for words that were never said
Tangled in ivy and wild green vine
Wrapped in a circle of rusted pine
Hold me tight in the overgrown deep
While the old garden falls fast asleep
Tied to the root and the heavy clay
Waiting for someone to lead the way
He cast me out by the workshop door
Now I don't feel the salt anymore
Sinking in clover and damp morning dew
Waiting for fingers to pull me through
Hold me tight in the overgrown deep
While the old garden falls fast asleep
Tied to the root and the heavy clay
Waiting for someone to lead the way
The metal is cold and the coating is thin
Wearing the scars where the oxidation win
Bending in loops like a frozen gold ring
Listening close for the reel to sing
Hold me tight in the overgrown deep
While the old garden falls fast asleep
Tied to the root and the heavy clay
Waiting for someone to lead the way
A spider has woven a web on my spine
Connecting the weed to this silver line
The workshop is quiet the windows are grey
The scent of the cedar is drifting away
Tug on the wire and feel the snap
Waking the ghost from a long winter nap
Snatched from the bramble and lifted on high
Cutting a path through the violet sky
He wipes off the mud with a calloused old hand
Bringing me back to the dry summer land
Checked for the bend and he tightened the gear
Knowing the water is finally near
Hold me tight in the overgrown deep
While the old garden falls fast asleep
Tied to the root and the heavy clay
Waiting for someone to lead the way
Just a silver line. Pull me home.
Pull me home.
