They
say
your
village
is
not
is
not
the
only
story.
Your
empty
bucket…
is
not
the
only
bucket
waiting.
So
before
you
tell
me
you
have
nothing
left—
I
thought
my
village
was
the
whole
wide
world
I
thought
my
pain
was
the
only
flag
unfurled
I
held
my
empty
bucket
like
a
crown
of
Never
knowing
what
gets
planted
when
a
Then
I
saw
a
boy
who
walks
five
miles
for
mud
and
sand
he
found
a
river
in
his
hand
While
I
was
crying
over
shirts
that
had
a
So
take
me
traveling
till
my
small
Show
me
hands
that
build
from
their
own
earthquakes
I
don't
want
pictures
of
the
I
want
to
hold
a
shovel
till
your
scars
Let
me
come
back
The
kind
that
know
my
little
death
is
not
your
goodbyes
Someone
survives
on
less
than
what
I
throw
Someone
rebuilds
with
fingers
I
call
broken
anyway
Someone
smiles
with
every
reason
I
once
I'm
the
one
who
thought
my
empty
bucket
Blakk
Pot
says
Don't
just
visit
like
a
ghost
with
a
camera
in
its
hand
the
tears
of
strangers
just
to
help
you
understand
Put
your
back
beside
a
shovel—ask
the
heavy
how
to
bend
Because
leaving
changes
villages,
but
coming
back?
That
mends
(Chorus)
Take
me
traveling
till
my
small
Show
me
hands
that
build
from
their
own
earthquakes
I
don't
want
pictures
of
the
I
want
to
hold
a
shovel
till
your
scars
Let
me
come
back
home
with
different
The
kind
that
know
my
little
death
is
not
your
goodbyes
The
one
who
never
leaves?
The
one
who
only
takes?
They'll
never
know
How
healing
looks
like
kneeling
in
someone
else's
dust
To
return.
With
new
eyes
to
stay.
Blakk
Pot
to
the
world