Fields of Dust
Just outside an open hut in Ethiopia
Fields of dust gather for the harvest
A lunar land with rocks and craters
With souls piled up in graves
Stay just as quiet with the people
Who have so much in common with the land
A golden sun will come to comfort them
To cover them in blankets of the earth
In Ethiopia just outside the hut
There are no windows made of glass
People are not working on a tan
Or Lying about on blankets in the sand
It is an idle curiosity for Americans
To watch a population grow to zero
With so much attention given to the gangs
To details, to rocks, to fields of dust
In God we trust and with Him gangsters
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