The clear light of dawn has trouble finding its way down
to the forest floor
The instruments we use to measure time
from clocks to calendars to the rings in our trees
preserve the illusion of order
and fall in splinters on the forest floor
When the sun sets on this brutal time
we will be waiting for
the winter to pass
the snow to melt
the ground to thaw
We will be waiting for the sun to rise again
and for the seeds to sprout
The sky is shattered
its broken pieces are
buried under dead leaves
on the forest floor
Words & Music by Mike Power 