Shelter From The Sand

Nothing could save the Baptist

Not cross, not altar, nor crucifix

Old time lays waste the spirit

Without condoning or condemning

A complex sense of purpose

For those with eyes to see

“This town is afraid of me

With good reason,

It has see my true face”

[Solo Mendonca]

Walking freely among the enemy

The Baptists lack of inner capacity

Philosophical sagacity

It is not seen as a defect

But as a sign of strength

A sign of strength

"I shall lay my hands upon you

Feel my hands touch you"

As if the eyes of the blind come open

Here is the servant

In whom my soul delights

Ancient sadness of desert sands

An unending hymn of praise

To the Sanhedrin of Sheol

Everything is real

Everything dies

"I shall my hands upon you

Feel my hands touch, touching you..."

Here's the one in who my soul delights

Close enough to touch yet out of reach

Everything is real

Everything dies

...close enough to touch you...

[Solo Wilcock]