Matthew Francis Andersen

Roots have gone to dust now
Green has gone to gold
Darker now the doorways
Nights are feeling cold

You can fill a horn with oil and
See what you can see

The rivers are abiding
Rain has gone to rust
Can't turn the circles of the sky
Roots have gone to dust

Roots have gone to dust
There's smolder on the range
Ashes in the flavors and
Iron in the vein

We go crawling up the slag heaps
Looking for something to burn

The mist of the moon now
Wears a hunger in its lust
The next bus is a long, long wait
Roots gone to dust