(B. Walkenhorst)
I want to grow old with her
To have our children come
And find us face down on the hill
Listening to the hum
I want to grow wise with her
Truth pounded into bone
The sound of lies dies like white noise
Listen to the hum
I want to grow gardens with her
In soil of sand and stone
My desert blooms with wild perfumes
Listen to the hum
I want to grow up with her
To change in slow motion
From laughter simple to lovers that tremble
Listen to the hum
I want to be born with her
Where cell and soul become
Aligned and tuned to something new
Listen to the hum
