Martha

Up here on the mountain
With nothing but light
The machine kept making pictures
Fast and bright

Pretty faces
Easy skin
Everything ready
Before I stepped in

When everything looks done
You stop wanting to make

So I asked the machine
For what it don’t do
I asked it for weight
I asked it for truth

I didn’t start with beauty
I started with bone
A face worn by time
A shape made of Stone

Martha
You weren’t made to shine
Martha
You were made to hold

Martha
A face for many stories
A body built from old

I learned the machine’s languages
Style by style
Light on your skin
Line by line

I dressed that old structure
In colors and fire
Till stories showed up
Where I didn’t try

Martha
You weren’t my muse
Martha
You were my ground

Martha
A shape that stays standing
While the world spins around

Then something turned
I felt it inside
The machine wasn’t following
It was pulling my eye

Blend
Imagine
Over and over again
It wasn’t shaping images
It was shaping me then

I started wanting
To make things by hand
Earth and glass
Light in the sand

I looked at Martha
Like a map on the wall
Not a woman
But a place for it all

She carried the styles
So I could be free
To build a new world
Out of what I see

Martha
You gave me the want
Martha
To make and to try

Martha
You gave me back
The hunger
To shape what’s inside

The machine didn’t steal my voice
It took the old muse away

So I built one myself
Out of stone
And stayed