it's more like the kiss of a hammer
or a hundred spades at the mouth of a grave
or how the paper hearts of men were folded into money
and unfolded into shame
or how the rough skin of a revelation
was stretched over a wilting landscape
or how we spun ourselves into a darkness
of quiet and dust
so we took ourselves to the mountain's edge
and saw with naked eyes
the earth
whose face was a blistered red desert
whose body was a hollowed out gourd;
and out from the valley
a voice emerged
...
waiting for your miracle
you're hanging on the edge
nothing ever happens now
your providence is dead
we saw mountains crumble
we saw markets tumble
birds singing, birds singing
and i saw the face of a terrible thing
a hand from above
won't quit taking, taking, taking
waiting at the crossroads
what are we to do?
everything is changing now
everything anew
death of a season
a new world is waiting
for you
...
so we turned around,
descended the mountain
returned to ground
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