This valley draws down to a fortress, faint
Vision of smoke in the dusk.
There's the music of work shaping refuge in
Rhythm of hammer and trust.
Musical cipher that locks and guards an
Army of warmth and love.
Past a sentry of wood and rusted iron lies
Spoils of battles won.
Blazing sun is an enemy of one hundred days
Assaulting a landscape of peace.
Winter's cold is a thief eluding leather and wool,
Brings one, alone, to their knees.
Bless the fortress where are, the deepest cuts, soothed by
Touch from the saint within.
Trust your blood and your skin to salvation from
Hands of a trusted friend.