The thunderbirds are coming down from the sky torn to pieces
are my churches and my schools, bent into shadows are those crying for their lives
somewhere does the gypsy singer moan
reaching her gnarled hands to the sky
her leaves and autumn dresses have surprised us all
after all we were waiting for spring.
What color is a mirror?
Only the colors it reflects.
Likewise let our dreams not be eaten by dragons.
Let's eat the dragon.
Let's cry for help, a war cry
a little boy.
Let us never forget again.
Let us be proud and bold, on horses, waiting not for the West Wind.