When the earth turns to dust in your fingers
When the hot parched ground is baked hard
When all of your hopes have gone
Never despair
When streams and mighty rivers run dry
When all that was green turns yellow-brown
When your throat aches with thirst
Neither fear nor despair
From high in the Western sky he comes
Wings outspread to touch the clouds
On his solid back he bears a lake of dew
From his wing tips, drop by drop, to refresh
