Verse 1
I was four years old when the belt come down
Stomach still burns from the whippings in that town
Ran away to the inlet, slept where the lost souls hide
Brother took his life on Mother’s Day, family tore me up inside
Near death at 112 pounds, doctors said write your will
But something in the darkness said “Boy, you ain’t finished still”
Chorus
We turnin’ wounds into wildflowers
Yeah, turnin’ wounds into wildflowers
From the ashes and the trauma, from the broke and the scarred
Broken ones keep birthing beauty right where the pain was hard
Machines outrun the sacred, algorithms steal your tears
But they’ll never sit beside you, never hold you through the years
Only gardeners of the soul know how it’s done
Turnin’ wounds into wildflowers… one by one
Verse 2
Big Mammon got his hooks in every anxious mind
Harvestin’ our loneliness, leavin’ real love behind
Two years sick in a wheelchair, every blood test comin’ ‘tween
So they handed me a label for a thing they’d never seen
That’s when I learned the oldest work, the one they took from me —
you name the wild things in you, and the naming sets you free
Chorus
Turnin’ wounds into wildflowers
Keep on turnin’ wounds into wildflowers
No more users, no more profiles, no more chains
We cultivators now, callin’ every longing by its name
Big Mammon wants your loneliness, wants to sell it back as gold
but the thing that bears the image was never his to hold
From the compost of our suffering, new life starts to rise
That’s the Garden work — that’s fleshience in our eyes
Verse 3
Homeless, broken, soldier, artist, believer in the storm
Eleventh ACR to the Bronx, from the dark into the warm
Brought it to the gatekeepers, thirty-one years they told me no
But the Well stays deep, and the wild things grow
Bridge (half-time, raw and spoken-sung over sparse, weeping guitar)
We’re drawin’ from that ancient Well… where the Word turns flesh…
Machines outrun the sacred ground… but they can’t name the pain inside your chest…
The Word went and got a body… so it knew what we been through…
Adam’s old work is still breathing… in the ones who hurt the most…
naming is the new power… turning wounds…
Final Chorus (building, call-and-response with female harmonies)
…into wildflowers
Become a gardener of your soul, right here, right now
Name your inner creatures, watch the beauty take a bow
Every wound a wildflower, reaching for the sun
That’s how the Garden rises — that’s how the work gets done
Male & Female:
Wounds into wildflowers… blooming through it all…
Wounds into wildflowers… answer to the call…
Outro (building one last time, then resolving)
Grace looks down at your ashes — and she sees the soil
So rise up, broken gardener, there’s beauty in the toil
Plant in the ruins, child, and watch what breaks through
naming is the new power… we’re turning wounds…
…into wildflowers