It came as a storm on the edge of something a plough through the field, and the farmhand's gone running and the cedars are a-shaking like men at their judgement bowing to the howl as the dust churns about them
But where is your sound?
Ruthless, and cackling, and swept across the grassland the fire comes burning and screaming like a madman and the ground is a-trembling and split apart at the seams carving a chasm and groaning in the shudder
But where is your sound?
Restless, my face is wrapped up like a widow gazing from the mouth of the cave, open window and quiet as the land relenting its fury your song is as silent as the heart it is stirring