Desert Sun. Rustaq. Oman.
Under the sign of a changing-faced god / ashes and messages were spread / from the living to the dead / the living had been scattered across a grid / so that nothing that they did / made one shred of sense anymore / even the masks they wore / could not disguise their stumbling fate / so when the light turned green / they would go / and when the light turned back to red / they would sit and wait.
Upon the altar to beyond / there lies the low eternity / no one need to gets off / it is the same now for the sower and the seed / there is enough now so take all that you need / no one needs to get off / this is the low eternity / there’s no need to be swayed / there is enough shade from every tree / these days when the wind has blown / then we go out and gather what we see/ there’s no need to be afraid / this is the way it will always be / no one needs to get off / this is the low eternity / some men need to stand outside the station / others need to lie beside the beach / somewhere where a poor man just can reach / up into the low eternity / no one needs to get off / this is the low eternity / no one needs to get off.
Two Angels. Axum. Ethiopia.
It seems that I’m speaking a lost language / that nobody else can hear / and I’m starting to get a bit worried / because I’m sure I’m speaking perfectly clear / it makes we wonder if I’m the only one left / or perhaps the first of my kind / because there’s no one to reason with / or try to talk me down / when I’m out walking on the edge of my mind / it seems that I’m speaking a language / that go buried and left behind / it makes me wonder if I’m the only one left / or perhaps just the first of my kind.
Six o’clock in the morning / in twenty minutes I’ll be gone / I can’t believe that time is over / and there’s no way to keep it on / you watch the moment slip away / and count the seashells on the beach / but there’s no way of getting over / the star that swings just out of reach / I tipped my bottle to a stranger / that stranger soon became a friend / many a story he surrendered / about the way it might’ve been / if every love was beautiful / and every lesson he could teach / but there’s no way of getting over / the star that swings just out of reach / and then he headed for the pavement / my friend looked up and came undone / his head was twisted in amazement / his heart filled up for everyone / he stretched his finger to the sky / and saw that pie just like a peach / there’s no way of getting over / the star that swings just out of reach / there’s no way of getting over / the star that swings just out of reach.
Black Elk Cross. Blair. Nebraska.