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| Cold Sky by my good friend, Bowen Kline |
3/4 C D G
To the man who is able to put in twelve hours,
and the family that's growing like weeds and like flowers,
and he turns to the fool, when he turns over towers.
C D C
His world can seem cold like the snow,
and there's nowhere but forward to go.
So he turns his chin, to the December wind.
It's the only thing he's ever known.
C D C
Then the snow melts down, into Michigan ground,
C D C -(G)
C D C -(G)
and he reaps a bit more than he sows.
She studies all night, and she works every day,
and she hopes to be home while the baby's awake.
She prays for a light in the dark where she lays.
God's shoulder seems cold like the snow,
but every Sunday she's in the back row.
The tears on her chin, are her prayers and her hymns.
It's the only thing she's ever known.
Then those tears seep down, into Michigan ground,
in her garden where the lavender grows.
