Lyrics
The flowers have clouded the water.
Your coat keeps its place by the door.
I go where the morning requires me,
Come home to what morning ignored.
Your name rises up in a story.
My mouth nearly asks you to stay.
I swallow the end of the sentence
And carry the plates away.
Lord, leave something living in me.
Something the day can still reach.
A root underneath all this silence,
Too deep for my sorrow to see.
I’m putting the bread on the table,
But hunger’s a stranger to me.
Whatever still turns toward the morning,
Lord, leave something living in me.
I keep finding doors in a sentence
That only your voice could unlock.
My hand finds your name on the phone,
And the whole afternoon comes to a stop.
They’re making their plans for December.
I’m trying to get through today.
I laugh, and it feels like betrayal.
I ache when the laugh goes away.
Lord, leave something living in me.
Something the day can still reach.
A root underneath all this silence,
Too deep for my sorrow to see.
I’m putting the bread on the table,
But hunger’s a stranger to me.
Whatever still turns toward the morning,
Lord, leave something living in me.
The youngest pulls up a chair,
Says, “Show me the way that you did.”
I open your book to the flour
Still caught in the fold of a page.
Her small hands disappear in the dough.
Mine remember where to begin.
She asks why I’m crying. I tell her.
Then she puts her hands back in.
Lord, there’s something living in me.
Something the day could still reach.
Those small hands were covered in flour.
They needed a lesson from me.
I don’t know the whole of Your purpose,
Or why this is part of the plan.
But the child at the table is waiting,
And there’s something to put in her hands.
We leave it to cool by the window.
She pulls up a chair by my side.
I tell her you taught me to make it.
She says, “Tell me one more time.”
