Rather be in the valley with the sunlight that ends the day. Wait on the rain, the quiet lovers in the field of tired horses before the war.
I am a savage with a hatchet, pieces of people in my hair, crying to a tree God as I dry my scalps and wait on more to come. Life is ending. They number the sand and blades of grass, we are fewer each day. We'll blot out the sky with arrows, we'll die here among our valley of killed sunlight that ends our days.