That Soft Voice

Should we paint the walls of your womb each time,
or have the seams been broken with a smile?
You can choose to remember the hurt from that fall,
but it's the baby's cry that makes it all worthwhile.

Should we confide in that watered-down money,
or have those attic works of art become your make believe bed?
You can choose to remember the hurt from that fall,
but it's the baby's cry upon which your love is shed.

It's the baby's cry upon which your love is shed.

For I am convinced it was that soft voice
that made me feel so much less betrayed.
You can be so proud to have such a friend,
the one who left with the wind when others might have stayed.

And what's to become of that green pasture bracelet dream,
when your best efforts are but the hand of a milk-fed sea?
You can choose to remember the hurt from that fall,
while I lower my glasses and say, "It's only me."

While I lower my glasses and say, "It's only me."

"It's only me."

For I am convinced it was that soft voice
that made me feel so much less betrayed.
You can be so proud to have such a friend,
the one who left with the wind when others might have stayed.