Dirty hand
Never quite know
That in the depths washed
You can not quite get all of the
Dirt
If dirt is on the hands of man
Whose hands toil in the dirt
No notice is paid
But on the hands of a banker
On the hands of a tycoon
We wonder
Where does this dirt come from
The dirty hands
That can’t be washed clean
Made whole
Only to be broken
Held on to
Until no words were spoken
We are made for infinte
But struggle with moments
Like these
Can holding on
Be letting go
Holding up
Waiting to see where
I can go
We can learn to hold
On
To let
Go
At the cafe
Hands on the roaster
Brewing the next cup
Looking to the future
Filling up
Looking at ways to grow
Without selling the soul
Of what makes it all work
The creation of an idea
And the contrast of growth
Weighs on every mind
Begin again
Again again
It all starts over
When you start again
But when you pick up
And return to form
You learn what you lost
And regain what you knew
So that in due time
You can see how you
Grew
Clean me oh great shower
Prepare me for another day
Refresh my senses in steam
And warmth
Relax my mind
Open my heart
Showers in the morning
Always seems to be
The best start
The size of an almond
With a personality the size
Of the room
Our small dog
Named Wilco
May have a small heart
But fills the room with love
When anyone walks in
Sweet little Wilco
A fine day
Is coming
When we believe
Not in celebrity
But in each other
That day
Is coming
One fine day
Trolls have nowhere else to go
Lurking for flat moments
Growing thick like mold
Trolls roll up their sleeves
To sow discord
In a world that needs to be healed
Refilled with love
So the trolls can roll away
Trees told stories
Well past the boundaries
Of you and me
The simple tree
That we cut down
Can teach us about
Life
And each other
Trees go on
Well past us
And continue to grow
Even when we are growing old
A Cup of Songwriting 