Yea Tho We Walk

Cold morning in the Midwest, winter earth in a wedding dress
 Sun creeping over those blue angels of death
 So much corn and loss and God, hold the Good Book tight
 For fear the fields will swallow you at night
 Landing low over the prisons, Omaha at Eppley field
 Inmates down in the courtyard, so close that I can feel
 So much rage and hope and grief, and this dream of getting free
 Fueled by the sound of airplanes as they leave
 Oh my friend, is that your hand in mine?
 This valley grows darker each time
 Oh my friend the soul seems made from such a thread
 No matter how it tears it always tries to mend
 Seems death is my new neighbor, he watches me in my garden
 His silhouette in the window so terrible and handsome
 If I turn away, or if I watch him carefully
 Will I not fall in love today?
 Oh my friend is that your hand in mine...
 Do unto others, love thy brother
 Yea tho we walk tho we walk