The hawk is hovering, always close

and the mice lie trembling in the fields

small and quiet and disappearing

​

the hawk is hovering, always close

and the mice lie trembling in the fields

search lights shine and I hear my father calling

​

Run before, run before the night falls

and the cold gets to your bones

​

we hide from the light

when the morning comes 

and you missed my words

​

hear my cry ricochet down the street

like shrapnel

​

Run before, run before the night falls

and the cold gets to your bones