Below a fire sky
Our horses will arrive
Their only job upon this earth
To see our spirits survive
Past fences of barbed wire
And fields of burning corn
For one rotation of the moon
Disintegrate at dawn
Their ash piled by a river
A small boat floats our way
A man with no eyes to see
And no tongue to say
Where he's taking us
You feel it in your guts
That beyond the fog we're breathing in
There isn't much

And the bodies that we own
Are dust set to blow into the face
Of an archaeologist
A thousand years after this
What is it you think you'll miss the most?

That river has no bottom
And a top subject to change
You're never sure when you might find
Your ankles in its way
You can track it by the moon
Or I guess you could try
No one's sure quite how you're meant
To get inside its mind
And then the boat is tied
To a sad and rotting wharf
There is no wind, the sky is gone
The air is wet and warm
Seagulls look on solemn
They smell the coming storm
It's hard to believe that this is it
The place from which we're born

And the bodies that we own
Are dust set to blow into the face
Of an archaeologist
A thousand years after this
What is it you think you'll miss the most?