Matt Pond Pa

I saw a modest dream
The kind that can't speak up
And lost before it's let out
In the north we hold our tongues
But down here i believe
When you pull your hair back it's so easy to see
This has not been thought through
There are things that we've done that we cannot undo
There are things i can't hear when we're telling the truth
At a table out in bethel
When i was thirteen
The criminals were saying
Liked how i was silent
The cold was the container
For the sparseness of our speech
The expression in our hands
Was all that we'd need
But down here i believe