40 days
Chris robinsonAnother game of paradox got the angels choosing sides
Last word of a pistol poem
A faded note on a torn back page
And from the mountain rolls the thunder who has escaped its gilded cage
So be safely on your way and heed the words I say
40 days, boys
40 days
You'll have to leave what you can't carry
40 days, boys
40 days
And I hope that you are ready, well are you ready?
Your words are sad with wisdom and as you speak they float away
In to some mystic vision that holds back this heavy rain
You who have never swam the river
You who have never much as cared
You who now seeks solace will find no comfort here
Fear is never kind
As it creeps into your mind
40 days, boys
40 days
You'll have to leave what you can't carry
40 days, boys
40 days
Well I hope that you are ready
Said, are you ready?
How long must I wait?
How long must I wait?
For the river to run dry, for you to look me in the eye.
How long must I wait?
The savage hooks of midnight, have pierced your milk white skin,
tattooed in gold dust splendor
A jeweled thrown you ascend
So be safely on your way and heed the words I say
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