What is the work now under the covers Where is the heartland of home to discover Plants growing sideways, birds singing (chaste) The soil, air & water hold hatred & waste Sky full of promise, angels of healing Blessings for eyes so much more than revealing So many bricks we have baked toward destruction Building that temple from self loathing functions Well pulling down falsehoods is such thankless work "Please help me"; be ready to roll in the dirt Ancient songs call us, the oldest still playing What can be ours, a symphonic portraying Order and angels and every soul singing Hurry please, loved ones, our destiny's waiting.
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