When I wake, I wake by the brook,nTo an untamed thunder,nAnd the northern flicker flash aboutnas the soup in the sky grows thicker.nBut I tip my cap and curtsy, and I take no offensenBecause there is no hate in your darkest cloud, no ill intent.nYet there is hate all around.nnOn its hind legs, rears this storm, and the pines bend from its wily sword.nYet there is no war, no war,nNo quarrel here at all.nAnd the deer shake in their hooves and shield their fawn.nAnd when the rain comes, the rain comes.nNo judgement falls.nYet there is hate all around.nnThere's a rusty prick in the tall grass,nWhere the barbed wire waits for a blind horse in a gallop and its sealed and sudden fate.nThere is hate in the grip of our human hands.nThere is hate in the grip of our human hands.nThere is hate in the grip of our human hands.nYes, there is hate all around.