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Mark Lecuona Nov 2017
A falling mountain stream
From the sky on down it runs
You can hear it from the graveyard
While the moon gathers what the sun left behind

Trying to sell what a farmer grows
You can't get rich living like that
Rest in peace, it made him think of them
Nobody ever starved singing songs of memory

Peace resting at his feet
He thought about their hard life
They made it all the way to heaven
Singing like a stream made of light

He could fix a flat and grow a garden
Children and chores never thinking about it
In between prayers, songs of the country
That's how they always finished the day

Peace Lord peace
Peace resting at his feet
Peace Lord peace
Peace resting where peace can sleep

— The End —