(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
