American Motor Over Smoldered Field - Silver Mt. Zion

It will not be a tender fire

Upon your postcard mountains

No golden children will write hymns about

The slow defeat of your reckless destiny

Bullets in the bellies of babies

Sleeping in the strangest places

Indifferent to the blinding grace of

The vapor trails and burning waste

Of your baptist skies

Oh, to live in a burning house

With burning children eating dust

And finger painting flags

Smoke pours out of their eyes

They’re praying and saluting

Hey, okay

Kiss me slowly

Beneath the dripping leaves

Of our train track trees

Though sickly and diseased

Some weeds thrive anyways

It will not be a tender fire

Upon your postcard mountains

No golden children will write hymns about

The slow defeat of your reckless destiny

This fence around your garden

Won’t keep the sky from falling…