lirik lagu the owens – the restoration (us)
narrator: constance owen
momma’s fingers b-ttoned my sunday dress—
i was five years old
it was summertime
she whispered that she’d heard me singing in my sleep—
melodies she’d never heard before
she said:
“constance, i once had dreams
and i don’t want to see yours fade like mine did
this book will teach you to release
the music that’s singing inside you.”
“but your daddy don’t know what i done with his money
so keep this book hid under your bed.”
she picked me up and i felt the tears on her neck
see
the music is in my mind—
every moment, all the time
momma says it’s a gift from god
the visions and melodies
follow into my dreams
momma’s body quit her and ruined her bones—
i was eight years old
it was autumn
i ran through the cotton and cried in the fields—
the first time i b-ttoned her dress for her
i cursed her for letting things change:
her proud back, her strong hands, her beauty
my selfishness made me ashamed
consumed by the fear that i’d lose her
but her spirit could not be kept down;
she snuck me to lessons at old reverend harper’s
she’d say “your daddy’s a good man
he just don’t understand you.”
the music is in my mind—
every moment, all the time
momma says it’s a gift from god
the visions and melodies
follow into my dreams
i was twelve, it was spring—
i saw daddy’s mule from the schoolhouse; and i knew
my eyes started stinging
i ran out the door, to the road, through the fields, through
the woods
and i heard the hooves behind me
daddy yelled, “constance, please stop!”
but i ran ‘til i saw all the crowd in the driveway
cousins, neighbors, distant sympathetic faces;
daddy’s eyes are empty, glazed, unblinking, shaking
i will not cry!
i will not let my knees buckle;
i will press my lips against my t–th to hush them
toes on dirt floor, legs have pulled me through the doorway
nostrils flooded: covered-dishes, gladiolus
she is not dead—
she is not dead!
now i see her:
knots erupt inside my throat
cold sweat
the stinging
oh!
still—
always—
the music is in my mind
every moment, all the time
momma said, “it’s a gift from god.”
the visions and melodies
follow into my dreams
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