Molly Thomas

Lyrics

Suspended in time
I find your pieces
Telling stories from your beaches.

Tales from your day
Spinning terracotta clay
Living in the browns, reds & kaolin

Now they wash up on my shore
Resurrected from a storm
Making a connection, a prize
From long ago

I came across your name
pictured your face
In your smock of linen
Working the clay

Outside your creole cottage
On the banks, spinning mud, next to salt water
Your vision carries on
Like the Indians who came before you

I imagine your diary
And the notes of fiery
Elements, wood and dust
And the way they burn

Moving dirt to stone
Working to the bone
Bricks, tiles, fine goods
And the way they burn

From Mexico to Maine
Talking ‘bout the elevation
Ecor Rouge sits quiet, with your remains