Little Road

How can there be trouble in this world?

With the color in these hills, the blue October sky,

this little road that winds along the river.

Dusty barns and tractors in the fields

And families sit in front yards, or stand outside the churches

Kids are throwing footballs and pulling carts of pumpkins

And the morning sun is sparkling on the water

How can there be such trouble in this world?

Where the mountains roll so gently,

Deer graze on the hillsides, birds chat on the phone lines

The whole wide world's a prayer for Sunday morning

The geese inspect the stubble in the fields

And all along the roadside, families stop to wonder

At the new October morning

And a red tailed hawk is circling

And a father hugs his daughter

And an old man holds the car door for his wife to come and see

Then they turn and smile at me.

How can there be such trouble in this world?

I know of course I know that this is not the only picture

I don't of course I don't know what to do.

But the road keeps winding through the afternoon

And it doesn't know the sorrow or an inkling of the shadow

of the rage across the water, the hatred and the horror.

It just wanders through this valley with the river by its side

As the light fades from the sky

The beautiful light fades from the sky