Thirty Hills (song)

Have you heard what they say?
“'Neath the old woman lay
softly sands coloured deeper than sin.
Brittle bones paved the way,
'til their vessel fell, stained”;
'Thirty Hills' did the children all sing.

In the bitterest cold
rests a township of old,
where a solemn breeze slowly creeps in.
When the leaves kiss the mould,
one could hear, so I'm told;
“Thirty Hills” as the whispers begin:

“Here we're battered and bruised,
stricken down and confused;
dirty meals prepared fresh from the bins.
Still we walk when abused,
forcibly to the tune;
Thirty Hills, to your shade do we limp.

Not so far did they drown,
yet we swallowed the sounds;
thirsty chills, tell us where to begin?
Fallen angels and crowns
reigning down from the clouds;
'Thirty Hills' does their lullaby ring”.

Still the waves chase the storm,
beating sands strewn in scorn;
lusty thrills sway the spirits within.
“Scanty-clad is the norm!”
claim the widows of war;
Thirty Hills, won't you let them all in?

In the playground she screamed,
only barely sixteen;
desperate shrills bore her devils in grin.
On the dirt did she plead,
as they gathered in greed;
“Thirty Hills, won't you let us all in!”

Through our streets do they chase;
make a name for a face;
cash in tills: bread and butter and Jin.
Thirst they all for a taste
of a world free from chaste;
Thirty Hills, quench their wanting within.

In the fires they burn;
crackles tear through the earth;
crooked wills serving gas to the flint.
Face to face, then they turn;
scatter swiftly like birds;
Thirty Hills, face their beaks to the wind.

So I walk through the streams,
valleys riddled with things;
lofty pills and the nightmares they string.
Then does Sun call to Spring:
“withhold all that you bring!”
Thirty Hills, how your Summers die, grim.

At the base of the First,
Third and Fourth sense the thirst;
broken quills draw us pathways with ink.
Shall I climb through the worst?
Mighty summits traversed.
Thirty Hills, does your view draw me in.

Thirty Hills, their fare sorrows are dim;
Thirty Hills, purge our demons and kin;
Thirty Hills, lay us down to your whim.