Dust

Behind the dirt sprawled before us Behind narrow eyes and faces of fat Beyond those hands opened or closed That strain in vain nor raise their fists Further than frontiers that barb our path Further than misery we must look We must look at what is beauty The grey sky or blue The women by the stream The faithful friend, tomorrow's sun The fly to the swallow The boat that returns The faithful friend, tomorrow's sun The fly to the swallow The boat that returns Beyond the concert of sobs and tears Of cries, of anger, of men in fear Beyond the din of streets and singers Of warning sirens, of swearing porters Stronger than children who recount the wars And stronger than the great who've made us make them We must listen to the bird in the wood The murmur of summer, the rising of blood The mother soft songs, the children's prayer And the noise of the earth gently falling to sleep The mother soft songs, the children's prayer And the noise of the earth gently falling to sleep We must listen, we must look