Listen to the sounds on the window pane
(Listen to the sounds on the window pane)
The pitter and the patter of a delicate rain
(The pitter and the patter of a delicate rain)
Outside the house (outside the house),
Small clouds around (small clouds around)
To wake the rumbling of a tiny, little thunder
Receding into twilight's breath,
Whispers of a place not life nor death
And the mettle is tempered by the cool, cool water
But the water flows deep,
In the crevices beneath
And the train at the station, and the forging of the tracks
And the work of creation,
And the rest from the work of creation
Water, don't talk to me
(What do you see child, have you lost your way?)
I've come to find the water that will ease my pain
(Go down to the river, drink deep and sleep)
I made my way to the river,
And I saw them gathered on the banks;
The souls who'd wait for transmigration,
Waiting in the world of every old genesis
To mark the changing of the dark,
And the parting of the seas,
And the milk and honey
And the Earth is falling to the bottom of the sea
In a liquid dream of things not what they seem
Neither day nor night,
Neither here nor there,
Floating in between,
On the threshold, born
Out of nothing,
Voice of the burning bush,
And chaotic visions,
Chaotic dreams
Listen to the sounds,
Listen to the sounds
Oh, when you are treading water,
With the arms 'a flappin'
And the one hand clappin',
And look at all the sounds
Listen to the vision
Oh, and you shall draw water with joy
From the springs of the salvation;
Oh, taste and see the world is too much with us
And in this shimmering sea,
A storm in which you float,
You find yourself treading water,
Makin' the same moves,
Doin' the same thing over, and over, and over, and over...
And you feel the pull towards the past,
Towards what is safe and known,
And you feel the thrust towards the future;
Oh, the great unknown
And the leaden arms of gravity have abandoned you,
And there's a burning bush inside your ear singing this:
"The only way to get where you're going is to slow yourself down"
Because the old-nowhere, fast, is descending upon you,
It smells the scent of your indecision;
The blood of your fear is clouding the water,
Sharp teeth flashing
It's time, it's time to stop!
Stop the clock,
Time to go
How to change,
I don't know
Open the door,
Ready the passage
Open the door,
Ready the passage
Neither day nor night,
Neither here nor there
Floating in between,
On the threshold, born
Out of nothing,
Voice of the burning bush
And chaotic visions,
Chaotic...
(Hebrew?)
As the crone goes crossing through the gates of time;
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick tock
So the girl goes running through the deep, dark forest;
Earthquake, lollipop, tripping with the bad wolf
(Howling, growling, shattering,
Spying, wailing, flailing
Out of time)