The Trading Post
The land lies bare
and the crow circles low
over the corpse of unborn dreams
When the rain stays away
The sun devours your strength
Think about the hand that feeds
It’s the hand that gives
and the hand that frees
It’s the hand that bleeds
in war and peace
When all hope is lost
for old folks and kin
You may remember this
Remember some of that
The hand that creates your dreams
The hand that sows and feeds
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