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Description
the audience is seated, waiting
well, i'll tell you the story now
if you are just willing
to sit and listen

i'll tell you the story of what was
almost something

this is the story of a girl
who lived on a grey street,
who lived looking out her window
who was always waiting,
waiting and yet running,
never knowing if she was
running from something
or running towards it

when they parted, she found
that the grey deepened,
but the relief almost
made up for it

she held the seed
in her hand,
the beginning of what
could have been great

she stared at it for
hours, waiting
for the rain to come
and wash away the
soot under her eyes that
formed from the gathering tears,
the soot on her fingers from
trying to wipe them off
before she gave up to the flow.
but mostly, she wanted
it to come to clean
what she had done to dirty
the memory

but she couldn't let go
of the seed,
didn't know if she could
ever let go

why not?

good question.

because she was waiting
(i told you she did that)
for redemption for something
she couldn't confess.
she was waiting for the
sheets of rain to fall
because she knew
when they did,
the seed would be lifted

that was how beautiful
and extraordinary,
how utterly soulful
it was

you see, it was not
a seed from the ground
but one of the sky

what else shall i tell you
of this girl?

well, she had a habit
of assessing things for
what they were,
and then accepting them.

she was not one to riot
when she thought things
weren't as they should be.
don't get me wrong,
she was no picket fence wet dream,
no docile thing,
but she didn't like
to be burned, either

she tried to never
lose track of time,
and usually she didn't,
she tracked it closely,
counting how long she had
until she could escape
though she didn't count it...
with that one, she always
lost it

when she found
she had sunk low,
she knew she could go
even lower

so she lived
for the day when someone would
know that
and decide she mattered more
than what she did.

so, basically, she was waiting
for love

Description
the audience is seated, waiting
well, i'll tell you the story now
if you are just willing
to sit and listen

i'll tell you the story of what was
almost something

this is the story of a girl
who lived on a grey street,
who lived looking out her window
who was always waiting,
waiting and yet running,
never knowing if she was
running from something
or running towards it

when they parted, she found
that the grey deepened,
but the relief almost
made up for it

she held the seed
in her hand,
the beginning of what
could have been great

she stared at it for
hours, waiting
for the rain to come
and wash away the
soot under her eyes that
formed from the gathering tears,
the soot on her fingers from
trying to wipe them off
before she gave up to the flow.
but mostly, she wanted
it to come to clean
what she had done to dirty
the memory

but she couldn't let go
of the seed,
didn't know if she could
ever let go

why not?

good question.

because she was waiting
(i told you she did that)
for redemption for something
she couldn't confess.
she was waiting for the
sheets of rain to fall
because she knew
when they did,
the seed would be lifted

that was how beautiful
and extraordinary,
how utterly soulful
it was

you see, it was not
a seed from the ground
but one of the sky

what else shall i tell you
of this girl?

well, she had a habit
of assessing things for
what they were,
and then accepting them.

she was not one to riot
when she thought things
weren't as they should be.
don't get me wrong,
she was no picket fence wet dream,
no docile thing,
but she didn't like
to be burned, either

she tried to never
lose track of time,
and usually she didn't,
she tracked it closely,
counting how long she had
until she could escape
though she didn't count it...
with that one, she always
lost it

when she found
she had sunk low,
she knew she could go
even lower

so she lived
for the day when someone would
know that
and decide she mattered more
than what she did.

so, basically, she was waiting
for love