Human Hands

When I wake, I wake by the brook
To an untamed thunder
And the northern flicker flash about
As the soup in the sky grows thicker
But I tip my cap and curtsy, and I take no offense
Because there is no hate in your darkest cloud, no ill intent
Yet there is hate all around

On its hind legs, rears this storm, and the pines bend from its wily sword
Yet there is no war, no war
No quarrel here at all
And the deer shake in their hooves and shield their fawn
And when the rain comes, the rain comes
No judgement falls
Yet there is hate all around

There's a rusty prick in the tall grass
Where the barbed wire waits for a blind horse in a gallop and its sealed and sudden fate
There is hate in the grip of our human hands
There is hate in the grip of our human hands
There is hate in the grip of our human hands
Yes, there is hate all around