We've come from further fields
& closer rolling skies
Descended mounting stairs
That peals of lightning rise
That flash without they leave
A trace before our eyes
Except the wounded world
That pain cannot disguise
And what the river does
Is there no one thakt knows
Which way the current runs
& which the water flows
That those are not the same
Though same they seem to be
The mountain is the mouth
The source is in the sea
Writer(s): Michael Brian Wexler
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