Indian Rope Man

Fog dangling thick

Can't see the right road

Streets are sick,

The eight day mill

It might grind slow, but it grinds fine

Indian rope man, while lookin' on

Tells common clay he's heavenly born

Retired layman looks on in scorn,

With a transplanted heart

Kiss him quick, he has to part.

Yeah... yeah

Indian rope man sees the times,

Splitting loose the edge of minds

Catching losers in his line, in his line, yeah

Kiss him quick, he has to part.

Yeah... yeah

Indian rope man flexes his eye,

Dissolving the fog

Revealing the lie

Indian rope man holds my trick in his heart, yeah

Kiss him quick, he has to part

Yeah... yeah

Indian rope man sees all strife

Cutting down eternal life

When his soul transcends his heart, oh

Kiss him quick, he has to part.

Yeah... yeah