The wind is still, so very still.
Soil is new to me.
Land of hurt, land of pain
Land of faith, place of pity.
In circumstance I find it strange
That here I feel with heart again.

The stone is cold, so very cold,
'Bove poor, disturbed graves.
Stolen, melted.
Stolen, melted.
They've paved 'long rail-road way
For feet of blood, fest'rings old.

Their candles, lamps,
To David's stars,
Are healing beauty from the shadow
Beyond the twisted wire.

The brick is red, so very red.
Mortar of unforgivable sin.
Demonic force
For living-space?
How let Persecution bring here
The roses of spirit and let them in?

The stretch is quiet, so very quiet.
You see attentive, wilting faces.
"Women, left.
Men, right".
Bellows of dark, misguided beasts
Disperse the righteous race.

Their dances, fiddles
To singing Rabbai,
Are healing music from the screaming
Beyond the torturous rooms.

The lie is good, so very good:
Pure-buds bloom at tainted gate.
"Work is freedom,
We are marching".
The petals fall from yonder tree
Near hoisted flag of fierce hate.

The sky is black, so very black.
Cinders of nature, whisps fly heavenward.
Sweet smell of flesh,
Flesh of rose.
No empty room with penitent lighting
Could serve what unfeigned prayer could.

Their kind spouses
To precious 'springs,
Are healing tenderness from war
Beyond the damning tracks.

The house is sickening, so very sickening.
That mural of poisoned paradise.
Features - medium.
Flowers for a man.
Sorrow continually before them,
Blissful ignorance; their advice.

The birds are silent, so very silent,
As are my woeful tears.
My heart is crying.
My soul is crying.
Their rites, songs
To humble orisons,
Are healing us from the hurt
Beyond the twisted wire.
Beyond the twisted wire.