Track 7: Through the mad mystic hammering of the wild ripping hail, the sky cracked its poems in naked wonder, that the clinging of the church bells blew far into the breeze, leaving only bells of lightning and its thunder, tolling for the searching ones, on their speechless, seeking trail, for the lonesome-hearted lovers with too personal a tale, and for each unharmful, gentle innocent lingering down there inside of a jail, while we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing
There’s a dying voice within me reaching out somewhere, toiling in the danger and in the morals of despair. I don’t have the inclination to look back on any mistake. Like Cain, I behold this chain of events that I must break.
Suddenly I turned around and she was standin’ there With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns “Come in,” she said, “I’ll give you shelter from the storm”