Heart of Open Sky The land is wind in the thorn and smoke The people are pieces of broken glass The muscle of greed is the rain of the cities The countryside a broken blanket But this woman is heart of open sky. Work beats the veins of day Work hour consumes itself Work hand unchosen time Work burns the engine spin But this woman is heart of open sky. Aeroplane cloud over hungry flies Angry fire and night gun papers Friends gone people dead Railway station crowds of babies But this woman is heart of open sky. |