Verse 1

I was raised on land my father swore

would always take care of its own,

but now this field is coughing dust

where living soil once had grown.

I breathe the poison when I spray,

try not to choke when the wind shifts near—

my kids play in a yard of chemicals,

and I pretend I’ve got no fear.

Pre-Chorus

They say these seeds will save us,

but the contracts tell the truth—

we’re renting life from corporations

who stole the future from our youth.

Chorus

And the soil remembers

every boot print, every tear.

It remembers all the promises

that blew away like harvest years.

This land is breaking under us,

but we still kneel and pray—

’cause the soil remembers who we were

before the world took it away.

Verse 2

I buy my seeds like borrowed dreams,

can’t save a single one for spring.

They sue you if their pollen drifts—

that’s the kind of power money brings.

The bank man shuffles papers

while my crops drown in a flood,

he doesn’t taste the bitter truth:

my payments paid in sweat and blood.

Pre-Chorus

They claim that chemicals feed the world,

but they’re stealing our own breath,

and the cost of trying to stay alive

keeps farming families in debt.

Chorus

And the soil remembers

every storm that we survived,

every child who ran these fields

still carrying toxins in their lives.

The dreams get thinner every year,

the hope gets hauled away—

but the soil remembers who we were

before the sickness and decay.

Bridge

Where are the bees that kissed our corn?

Where are the birds that sang at dawn?

Where is the creek that ran so clear

before the chemicals dragged it on?

Where are the hands that used to heal,

not sign their freedom over twice?

This land is crying out for justice,

but the world won’t pay the price.

Breakdown (Spoken / Half-Sung)

You can’t breathe a contract.

You can’t drink a promise.

You can’t raise a family

on debt and poisoned harvests.

We are farmers—

not prisoners of your profit.

We’re dying out here…

and you call it progress.

Final Chorus

And the soil remembers

every name carved in the dust,

every mother who buried hope

when the banks betrayed her trust.

We’ve given all we had to give,

but we still rise each day—

’cause the soil remembers who we are

and it won’t forget our way.I press my hand into the ground

and whisper to the fading earth:

We were stewards… not your victims—

and one day, you’ll know our wort