Driving home I see those flooded fields
How can people not know what beauty this is?
I’ve taken it for granted my whole life
Since the day I was born
Clouds hang on these curves like me
And I kneel to the wheel of the fox confessor on splendid heels
And he shames me from my seat
And on my guilty feet I follow him, in retreat
What purpose in these deeds? Oh, fox confessor please
Who married me to these orphaned blues?
«It's not for you to know, but for you to weep and wonder
When the death of your civilization precedes you.»
Will I ever see you again?
Will there be no one above me to put my faith in?
I flooded my sleeves as I drove home again