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lyrics
Wild ivy grows
hiding the wounds
of rotten stones,
ascending on forsaken walls,
sewing the ground.
Watered with the blood of the darkest cloud
and pruned by ethereal hands of wind.
Created to weave
magisterial stitches.
Planning slowly by the grace of sun.
Threading green fibers through the needles.
Branches and leaves are facing the rock
with roots.
Death decorated by
tangles full of life.
Injecting sheen of brown and green,
concealing the grey rust with a veil
for the nature’s will.
Weaving hundreds of gardens
without stop.
Everlasting work of art.
Sinks under the dust.
Keeps digging the land
liberating seeds,
delivering life.
See the mantle rise
below the skies.
Ruins dressed by
tapestries of life.
The tapestry is alive.
Wild ivy grows
next to the walls
of rusted grey.
But one day man
will come again
to build his grave.
Behold this miracle,
inhale what it provides.
A gift for our lives
exhaled from the woods.
Then why are we
raising walls on tapestries?