Did the wine make her dream of the far, distant spring

Or a bed full of hens or the ghost of a friend?

All the while that she wept she had a gun by her bed

& a letter he wrote from a dry, foundered boat

& the train track will take all the wounded ones home

& I’ll be alone.

Fare thee well, Sarah Jones.

Now we lie on the floor while the radio war

Finds its way through the air of the dead market square

& the Beast, never seen, licks its red talons clean.

Sarah curses the cold,

“No more snow, no more snow,

No more snow.”

--Iron & Wine, “Radio War”

Will you say to me when I’m gone,

“Your face has faded, but lingers on

Because light strikes a deal with each coming night.”

--Iron & Wine, “Each Coming Night”