Caretaker of My Heart

Trim the edges of my worn-out heart,
let the shavings fall upon the floor.
To glimpse the fire, the halves you must part,
and peer down inside; open love’s door.

Scissors in hand, explore the depths;
dust off the ancient parts; cut the weeds.
Oil my rusty hinges, I ask for your help;
dig up my empty fields and plant seeds.

Stoke the flames at my freezing core,
let them rise high and give warmth.
Give them love and to the heavens they will soar,
turn a petty flicker into a bright burning hearth.

There, licking at the edge of my soul,
will both the flames and you find my essence.
Grab hold and pull, for that soul is old,
give life to its veins with your presence.

Trim the edges of my worn-out heart,
let the shavings fall upon the floor.
Taking care of me is a fine kind of art,
and you are the artist who opened love’s door.

Trim the edges of my worn-out heart,
let the shavings fall upon the floor.
To glimpse the fire, the halves you must part,
and peer down inside; open love’s door.

Scissors in hand, explore the depths;
dust off the ancient parts; cut the weeds.
Oil my rusty hinges, I ask for your help;
dig up my empty fields and plant seeds.

Stoke the flames at my freezing core,
let them rise high and give warmth.
Give them love and to the heavens they will soar,
turn a petty flicker into a bright burning hearth.

There, licking at the edge of my soul,
will both the flames and you find my essence.
Grab hold and pull, for that soul is old,
give life to its veins with your presence.

Trim the edges of my worn-out heart,
let the shavings fall upon the floor.
Taking care of me is a fine kind of art,
and you are the artist who opened love’s door.