There’s no one here to hear me sing,
There’s no one here to tell me true:
My song is like a buzzard’s wing,
Like night it paints itself as blue.
And so the dark unfurls its soul,
And so the sky betrays our eyes.
There’s no one here to speak for you.
The buzzard flaps, the song beguiles.
Thunder now strikes the stricken night
And suddenly it strikes the heart.
My song unheard is heard tonight,
These wingéd words defy the dark.
There’s none to hear or tell me true,
Our final days are painted blue.
That buzzard bird will pray for you.
If all is lost, it’s what we do.