Reckoning in the Wind

The wind cuts cold through the abandoned warehouse wall. They're scratching for every dime to

buy the fixes that promises they will fall. The endless cycle of despair steals

the future and their youth. No way to escape the darkness, except to face

the bitter truth. Who is gonna save us? To who are we gonna turn?

There's a field of trouble in the wind, some lessons we won't learn.

We keep repeating history, planting what we sow. But the bitter

fruit of consequence is everywhere we know. That low-down humming on busted strings

is a warning we must hear, 'cause the world ain't fine and the reckoning