Mount St. Hella

We march through a meadow of wildflowers
The color of the sun, an orange hue of gold and blood
A shade above the self same setting on a summer night
There's greens and blues, more pale than light
The grass grows tall and the morning bright
It's just he and I, two brothers on a mountain
Who have lost their smell for wildflowers
I ask if he can hear the music
Playing soft between the colors