The Owens by The Restoration (US) Lyrics
Narrator: Constance Owen
Momma’s fingers buttoned my Sunday dress—
I was five years old
It was summertime
She whispered that she’d heard me singing in my sleep—
Melodies she’d never heard before
She said:
“Constance, I once had dreams
And I don’t want to see yours fade like mine did
This book will teach you to release
The music that’s singing inside you.”
“But your daddy don’t know what I done with his money
So keep this book hid under your bed.”
She picked me up and I felt the tears on her neck
See
The music is in my mind—
Every moment, all the time
Momma says it’s a gift from God
The visions and melodies
Follow into my dreams
Momma’s body quit her and ruined her bones—
I was eight years old
It was autumn
I ran through the cotton and cried in the fields—
The first time I buttoned her dress for her
I cursed her for letting things change:
Her proud back, her strong hands, her beauty
My selfishness made me ashamed
Consumed by the fear that I’d lose her
But her spirit could not be kept down;
She snuck me to lessons at old Reverend Harper’s
She’d say “your daddy’s a good man
He just don’t understand you.”
The music is in my mind—
Every moment, all the time
Momma says it’s a gift from God
The visions and melodies
Follow into my dreams
I was twelve, it was spring—
I saw Daddy’s mule from the schoolhouse; and I knew
My eyes started stinging
I ran out the door, to the road, through the fields, through
The woods
And I heard the hooves behind me
Daddy yelled, “Constance, please stop!”
But I ran ‘til I saw all the crowd in the driveway
Cousins, neighbors, distant sympathetic faces;
Daddy’s eyes are empty, glazed, unblinking, shaking
I will not cry!
I will not let my knees buckle;
I will press my lips against my teeth to hush them
Toes on dirt floor, legs have pulled me through the doorway
Nostrils flooded: covered-dishes, gladiolus
She is not dead—
She is not dead!
Now I see her:
Knots erupt inside my throat
Cold sweat
The stinging
Oh!
Still—
Always—
The music is in my mind
Every moment, all the time
Momma said, “It’s a gift from God.”
The visions and melodies
Follow into my dreams
Momma’s fingers buttoned my Sunday dress—
I was five years old
It was summertime
She whispered that she’d heard me singing in my sleep—
Melodies she’d never heard before
She said:
“Constance, I once had dreams
And I don’t want to see yours fade like mine did
This book will teach you to release
The music that’s singing inside you.”
“But your daddy don’t know what I done with his money
So keep this book hid under your bed.”
She picked me up and I felt the tears on her neck
See
The music is in my mind—
Every moment, all the time
Momma says it’s a gift from God
The visions and melodies
Follow into my dreams
Momma’s body quit her and ruined her bones—
I was eight years old
It was autumn
I ran through the cotton and cried in the fields—
The first time I buttoned her dress for her
I cursed her for letting things change:
Her proud back, her strong hands, her beauty
My selfishness made me ashamed
Consumed by the fear that I’d lose her
But her spirit could not be kept down;
She snuck me to lessons at old Reverend Harper’s
She’d say “your daddy’s a good man
He just don’t understand you.”
The music is in my mind—
Every moment, all the time
Momma says it’s a gift from God
The visions and melodies
Follow into my dreams
I was twelve, it was spring—
I saw Daddy’s mule from the schoolhouse; and I knew
My eyes started stinging
I ran out the door, to the road, through the fields, through
The woods
And I heard the hooves behind me
Daddy yelled, “Constance, please stop!”
But I ran ‘til I saw all the crowd in the driveway
Cousins, neighbors, distant sympathetic faces;
Daddy’s eyes are empty, glazed, unblinking, shaking
I will not cry!
I will not let my knees buckle;
I will press my lips against my teeth to hush them
Toes on dirt floor, legs have pulled me through the doorway
Nostrils flooded: covered-dishes, gladiolus
She is not dead—
She is not dead!
Now I see her:
Knots erupt inside my throat
Cold sweat
The stinging
Oh!
Still—
Always—
The music is in my mind
Every moment, all the time
Momma said, “It’s a gift from God.”
The visions and melodies
Follow into my dreams