You can see me anytime you need me Warm beyond a reason, night is on the wing And you could linger like a grind of ginger Making love a season, heating up the skin You can water me with tears of hunger Like the wheat in winter, pressed into a bed Like a handprint, flour upon a black dress White against the darkness, leavened into bread We are not our gravest deeds; you are not your grieving __ For the bravest flower seeds as the birds are leaving __ As the thin glow of summer's death will turn the leaves to red May the wind blow like a lover's breath, still warm as gingerbread Dreams are kneaded into walls and windows Sheltering our sorrows, dusted and adorned With the sweetness of some kind tomorrows Sugars incompleteness, rested into form We are not our gravest deeds ... And while the black sky spreads its myth of thunder That we labor under, reckoned by the dead These are crude thanks, charity and food banks For our harvest splendour, pepper for our bread We are not our gravest deeds ... We are not our gravest deeds ...
recording: Nancy Kerr & the Sweet Visitor Band (live, 2014) [YouTube]