\'The magic\'s gone\' I said
But he ignored the self pity in my voice
As if he had a choice.
\'But the land is suffocating\'
I tried to explain
Not even an acknowledgement
Of my worried pain.
\'How can we do this?\' I asked
Then he spoke to me at last
\"Shhhhhhhh\" he replied
As if that was all I needed
The only answer
To all my pleading
He just carried on
Chanting his ancient songs
In my rusted tin garage
All night long
He wouldn\'t listen
When I told the old fool
That the sacred world
Was done with us all
Still he prayed
A lamenting song
And the smoke from
The sweetgrass
Kept swirling on
I knew it!
I knew I shouldn\'t have trusted
This old guy
He\'s just some hobo
Looking for a place for the night
\'I can heal the land\' he had told me
So I brought him home because I believed
But now it\'s 3am and raining outside
And the patter on the tin roof is driving me wild
But not as much as his rhythmic drumming
From some old toy he probably stole from a supermarket
He said this place was a sacred one
Then started chanting but I was done
And as I rose to leave this sham
He reached out quickly and grabbed my hand
He spoke \'You need to learn to see better little crow\'
And with that, he left me all alone
And when I woke up hours later
Warm in my bed and less agitated
I poked my head out of my window
Looked at the old tin garage
Empty and hollow
Then a crow landed on its roof
It stared at me then off it flew
And that\'s when I began to see
To heal the land
I must first heal me