Child Of Dust - Thrice

Dear Prodigal, you are my son and I

Supplied you not your spirit but your shape

All Eden’s wealth arrayed before your eyes

I fathomed not you wanted to escape

And though I only ever gave you love

Like every child you’ve chosen to rebel

Uprooted flow’rs and filled their holes with blood

Ask not for whom they toll, the solemn bells

A child of dust, to mother now return

For every seed must die before it grows

And though above the world may toil and turn

No prying spade will find you here below

Now safe beneath their wisdom and their feet

Here I will teach you truly how to sleep