It snowed a few days ago in Colorado.
It’s middle October. I’ve nowhere to go.
A martyr’s cross I thought I’d come for.
But I’ve lost faith. I fear a coming war.
A beat up pick up truck, too worn tires.
In the west, no water, endless wildfires.
Snow in these mountains, may we sleep.
We sowed, and no we will tearfully reap.
Head north, to the forests, the clear lakes.
Leave the warriors and the wealthy rakes.
A martyr’s cross I thought I’d come to see.
But the war has come, faith is not so free.