Human Hands - Bowerbirds

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