this is by devendra banhart. it makes the listner feel like energy, and fiction. these are just the words:

when they come
from over the mountain
we will run
right around them
we’ve got no guns
no we don’t have any weapons
just our cornmeal and our children

dust drowns the dark clouds
but not us

while we pay
for mistakes with no meaning
all your gifts
and all your peace is deceiving
and still our pain
dissolves with believing
that peace comes

now that our bones
lay buried below us
just like stones
pressed into the earth
well we ain’t known
by no one before us
and we begin
with this one little birth
that grows on,
that moves on

crippled crow
say something for our grieving
where do we go
once we start leaving
close that wound
or else keep on bleeding
and change your tune
it’s got no meaning

.