Waters of March
Halie Loren Lyrics

A stick, a stone, it's the end of the road,
The end of a journey, represented by the objects on the ground.

It's the rest of a stump, it's a little alone,
The remaining piece of a cut tree, positioned in isolation.

It's a sliver of glass, it is life, it's the sun,
A small, shining piece of fragile matter, representing existence and brightness.

It is night, it is death, it's a trap, it's a gun.
The darkness of mortality and danger, symbolized by a snare and a firearm.

The oak when it blooms, a fox in the brush,
The blossoming tree and a wild animal hiding in the foliage.

The nod of the wood, the song of a thrush,
The motion of trees and the singing of a bird.

The wood of the wing, a cliff, a fall,
The material of flight, a steep drop.

A scratch, a lump, it is nothing at all.
A minor abrasion or swelling that is ultimately insignificant.

It's the wind blowing free, it's the end of a slope,
A breeze moving unhampered, the conclusion of an incline.

It's a bean, it's a void, it's a hunch, it's a hope.
A small seed, a space of emptiness, an instinctive feeling, an optimistic aspiration.

And the riverbank talks of the Waters of March,
The land beside the water refers to the seasonal rains.

It's the end of the strain, it's the joy in your heart.
The relief and happiness that accompanies the departure of winter.

The foot, the ground, the flesh and the bone,
The anatomy of the body interacting with the earth.

The beat of the road, a sling-shot stone,
The rhythm of travel, and a small weapon used for fun.

A truckload of bricks in the soft morning light,
A large vehicle transporting building materials during the calm hours of dawn.

The shot of a gun in the dead of the night.
The sound of gunfire in the silence of darkness.

A mile, a must, a thrust, a bump,
A long distance, an obligation or necessity, a forceful action, a jolt.

It's a girl, it's a rhyme, it's a cold, it's the mumps.
A female human, a poetic construct, an illness with symptoms of chill or swollen glands.

The plan of the house, the body in bed,
The scheme for a dwelling, and a person resting within it.

And the car that got stuck, it's the mud, it's the mud.
The automobile that is immobilized in the dirt.

Afloat, adrift, a flight, a wing,
Being on water without connection, floating freely, a journey supported by the air, the feathers used for flying.

A cock, a quail, the promise of spring.
A rooster, a small game bird, the expectation of the coming season.

And the riverbank talks of the Waters of March,
Again, the waterway banks mention the rains of March.

It's the promise of life, it's the joy in your heart.
The hope and happiness brought on by the fresh beginning of the new season.

A point, a grain, a bee, a bite,
A tiny spot, a small unit, an insect that pollinates, the sting of an animal.

A blink, a buzzard, a sudden stroke of night,
The rapid closing of an eye, a bird of prey, a sudden moment of darkness.

A pin, a needle, a sting, a pain,
Tools for sewing, a prick, a feeling of discomfort.

A snail, a riddle, a wasp, a stain.
A slow-moving animal with a shell, a challenging question, a flying insect that can sting, a mark left by something.

A snake, a stick, it is John, it is Joe,
A slithering reptile, a branch from a tree, any ordinary person.

A fish, a flash, a silvery glow.
A swimming creature, a sudden burst of light, a sparkly appearance.

And the riverbank talks of the Waters of March,
The riverbanks once again speak of March's rains.

It's the promise of life in your heart, in your heart.
The guarantee of vitality that fills your inner being.

A stick, a stone, the end of the load,
The end of a physical burden, expressed through these simple items.

The rest of a stump, a lonesome road.
The leftover part of a cut-down tree, and a route of isolation.

A sliver of glass, a life, the sun,
A fragment of a mirror, a representation of vitality and light.

A night, a death, the end of the run.
The darkness of the night, the final stage of existence.

And the riverbank talks of the Waters of March,
Once more, the riverbank mentions the rains that come in March.

It's the end of all strain, it's the joy in your heart.
The relief of tension and the pleasure in the heart that signal the arrival of spring.