It came as a storm on the edge of something
a plough through the field, and the farmhand's gone running
and the cedars are a-shaking like men at their judgement
bowing to the howl as the dust churns about them

But where is your sound?

Ruthless, and cackling, and swept across the grassland
the fire comes burning and screaming like a madman
and the ground is a-trembling and split apart at the seams
carving a chasm and groaning in the shudder

But where is your sound?

Restless, my face is wrapped up like a widow
gazing from the mouth of the cave, open window
and quiet as the land relenting its fury
your song is as silent as the heart it is stirring

And there is your sound