Restoration gravel highway

She tore his paper cross in half,
Burnt a match on a looking glass,
Turned toward the East and spoke,
"What you kill is what you smoke.

So pleased to see your dominance
Has led to here, where we commence
To forage through the leaves of time.
Please share with me a cup of wine."

In folded hands he held a stick
Of charcoal and a scroll, for plans
Were forming to begin some nesting rite -
A road to travel through the night.

"I see" he spoke "from where we are
The new beginning can't be far away.
So let's pick one more shower,
pluck the chord and plant the flower,

Make a misty rain dance over
By that hill, and when October comes
Our turn will have been taken.
Pack the coffee, pack the bacon".

On restoration gravel highway
They constructed signs for other travelers
To find the blossoms, dig the roots,
Enjoy the cautions

Flying to the wind across
The old familiar gain and loss.
An endless landscape, live and breathing.
Celebrations dance with grieving,

Happiness lays down with anger.
Lions stare into the manger at the child
Whose fate detoxifies the bloody wars,

The march of lies.

(part 6 of the RainingHorse song cycle)