We spent our last summer
Together planting trees
By the fence in our backyard
And watered them every day
They were the apple of our eyes
When we grow old
And have kids of our own
They'll be tall
And block the view
Of the factories on the other side of the road

We hear them in the morning
We hear them at night
The squealing of machines
The voices of people
Talking in their sleep
Walking in their sleep

Aging photographs
Are housing our stories now
The squealing of machines
The voices of people
Talking in their sleep
Walking in their sleep

Your family built a house
One hundred years ago
In the middle of a field
No one around for miles
And miles and miles and miles and miles ...
The grass decayed
And turned to concrete
But our roots are strong
They'll break through
They'll break through
When the factories rust and crumble

We hear them in the morning
We hear them at night

Aging photographs
Are housing our stories now