Trumpet 

©1986 Andrew Calhoun, recorded on Walk Me to the War and Skeins

There's a garden of woe, 
You've left untended, 
Where the weeds overflow, 
And the flowers are bended low; 
There's a trumpet of pain, 
Go blow the louder, 
Call down the rain, 
To shower the ground again.

For the gold shines bright, 
Though the chest is dusty,
And the key is right, 
Though the locks are rusted tight; 
On the field of dread, 
Our mothers are moaning, 
Tales of the dead, 
And our fathers groaning said 

"We need the light, 
The tiny gleaming, 
Of your song in the night, 
Like the starlight, streaming bright; 
It's a song of hope, 
And with hope, the power 
To test the slope again, 
And to raise the flower up."

There's a garden of woe, 
You've left untended, 
Where the weeds overflow, 
And the flowers are bended low; 
There's a trumpet of pain, 
Go blow the louder, 
Call down the rain, 
To shower the ground again.

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