Broken chairs your body conforms to
Out beyond the quieted garden
You can bring the man form into trust
Through the holes in my everydayness
Lends sustenance where starvation's necessary
Cause my head's a dictionary
Of long spring days and the speech of crows
Who themselves are mirrors of apprehensions
In the fallen sun
This one is actually a cover of Neil Young, but I like it better which is a rarity.
Hate was just a legend
And war was never known
The people worked together
And they lifted many stones
And they carried them
To the flatlands
But they died along the way
And they built up
With their bare hands
What we still can't do today