On the Edge of All That's Holy
4/25/2003
by Lorne Clarke copyright 2003

Out here on the edge of all that's holy
The only tree that's left has burned away
And we gasp for air amid the smoke filled valleys
Waiting for some orders to obey

Two Hundred Thousand children marching eastward
Blinded by the rising of the son
Four Hundred Thousand eyes keep stealing homeward
Longing for the days before the gun

Though the universe is still expanding
We are amazed to watch our field of vision shrink
A commander's only purpose is commanding
And our job is to follow - not to think

When and if these battles are all over
Will we sit together you and me?
Will we ever learn to trust in one another?
When the only thing that counts is victory.

Out here on the edge of all that's holy
The only tree that's left has burned away
And we gasp for air amid the smoke filled valleys
Waiting for some orders to obey
Waiting for some orders to obey
 

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