they've dreamt us, they called us, and caught from the start
they chase us, and haunt us, and ache us, and burn
places we've been to became us in part
and we have become them in turn
our hands be the rivers, our minds be the wind
our cellars ablaze from the sun
those gluttonous thoughts of ours strangely twinned
and bent on steps yet to be done
when we become callous and hard of the bark
when we turn to places, roads, forests, and shores
our hearts will grow roots through fat soil in the dark
I see mine be wreathen with yours
