It was early one evening

when I wandered into this town

I had no idea where I was

and I was feeling a little down.

I came by a wooden church,

being lonesome, in I went,

in time to hear what the preacher said,

"From Heave above the Angels were sent,

to give us prose and music

with which to praise the lord above."

At this the piano rant out,

as the preacher cried, "Free the love."

Well there at the back I'm stood,

with out a clue what to do,

when the preacher danced up to me

and sang, "My sister who are you?"

Flashing a golden smile,

as a Ruby studded velvet hat

was pushed in my hand,

while there at the Alter sat

a blood stained weeping man.

I told the preacher that was me,

He looked kinda scared, the chocked

When I asked, "who's the man I see."

The preacher looked me over sly

and sang, "He's the purpure King."

I watched him eyes down cryin '

and asked, "Why don't he sing?"

"He cries for our poor souls

and looks not to our sinful eyes."

I looked down at the hat,

filled so full of lies,

that I sang of the unwitting poet

who threw his word as he went pass'

to the wasteful starving deaf

riding back to town on an Ass.

Well a caged laugh broke free

and everyone fell to the floor.

I bowed to the smilin ' King

and headed for the door.

So through this town I'm going

still feelin ' so right down low,

till I heard a Hobo sing,

"Watch the Sun go down slow."

To his eyelids, by a sweet melody,

so to the House Of The Rising Sun,

I went, to wash down my sorrow

Till the fading day was done.

Down by the window I sank,

with a sun set all of my own.

Watching the Hobo by his last train

on his knees begging to lone,

his fare from a slipknot.

As his train went screaming to the night

I thought he looked so fine

dressed by the Opal moonlight.

That I left my last by that window,

so as I roamed, I'd have nothing to lose.

Then I staggered from the door,

to see a preacher steal his shoes.

Where I was going I couldn't tell

for I needed to know where I

was not going nowhere from.

When a drunk from a window did sigh,

"Your back home in Trouble."

Well right then I learnt something new,

that for all you leave behind,

you can't bid what's in your heart adieu.

So I figured not to run away,

But to walk on with my head held high,

Though the only way I could manage

by now was to crawl slowly by.

Onwards, till I came by a naked hole,

where a banker with a long black box

said, "Leave all you've saved with me

all our safes carry Heart shaped locks."

"I save nothing so's I have nothing to lose."

Answered I, letting my laugh run loose.

He smiled and offered me a gift.

A white Opal hanging by a noose.

I saw my laugh jump behind a bush,

My stomach lurched, my heart fell,

I edged right back then

stumbled to my feet, and ran like Hell.

Well ten miles down the way

against a tree I stopped dead,

and arm in branch we danced

a Waltz according to my head.

But I wanted to be on my way.

So I kissed my friend Tree goodby

and sang as I staggered along,

of a travelling friend who wouldn't lie

about taking anyone hand.

This friend I felt I needed to see

for standing alone, the last person

I wished to ask my way was me.

Lost though I was I fretted not,

for I still had a road to follow,

though cracked mud and stone,

rather than layed brick painted yellow.

Along I crawled, hands and knees bleedin ',

looking for a verge on which to sleep.

But this night I wished not to lose,

and had to find a place to keep

this useless tale safe from dream.

Though now in circles I was going

I thought to tell who I meet,

To see what they'd do for knowing.

But as I heard a broken bell cry,

from this town, I knew I couldn't talk,

for I feared it was no word in my mouth.

But to help I couldn't walk.

I think I wandered into a field,

I couldn't rightly tell.

The last thing I remember

is being sick in a wishing well.

What happened then I don't really know,

as I was told though I'll tell you now,

That I came riding into town

on a big brown cow.

Well let this be a lesson

to those wanderers who tries

Fate by carrying its bated answer

on their lips with their sighs.

For when Sun washed lips tell

of what lies behind the night,

words lose their voice in the

coloured patterns cast by light.

So bow to the sun as it goes down,

take night by the hand and walk free

and give your song only to the moon

for no dream will the light see.