One friend dead, another friend dying
And the winds of fearful silence blow across the land.
Conspirators of love talk in quiet whispers
of pain, frustration and walls they can’t break down.
There are no maps to guide us through this lost and lonely country.
Only fellow pilgrims who speak of paths that they have tried.
In the end it’s love that wins. In the end it’s God who triumphs.
But in this wilderness before then, it’s hard to see that far.
One friend dead, another friend dying
And the winds of fearful silence blow across the land.
June 4, 1993
