some days, her shape in the doorway, will speak to mea bird's wing on the windowsometimes I'll hear when she's sleepingher fever dream, a language on her faceI want your flowers like babies want God's loveor maybe, as sure as tomorrow will comesome days, like rain on the doorstep, she'll cover mewith grace in all she offerssometimes I'd like just to ask her what honest wordsshe can't afford to say, likeI want your flowers like babies want God's loveor maybe, as sure as tomorrow will come