From the recording Song-of-the-Week
Lyrics
Think of the man who prays before he eats
And I'll think of the steps to a dance on the floor at the ball
Blessed in beauty by unconscious repeat
Self-ordained in rhythm like a cowbell call
I saw the summer approaching through the holes in the colonnade
I saw the sun light turn my shadow into shade
Think of the grass that predicts the rain as it's combed by the wind
I don't want to feel a kiss that predicts her departure again
She falls like rain that traces the tops of your skin
As she followed her lips from the curve in my wrist to my hand
And I touched her back where she didn't know she was
And she arched in the sun for no reason but because
Think of all that is broken and all that is yet to break
All of the revolutions it is needed for all of the turns it will take
Every intercourse has stood and so soon will stand at stake
So I completed her lips with a kiss from my hands to her face
And the mountain is in the same place as the deer
And her beauty lies nowhere else but here
So I found the corner where the dancing was annulled
Where my steps were determined by nothing but my heart's beat
Every man-made engine that burns for wheels that roll
In the thinning of air breaks down from its own heat
I am unraveled at every fold
Like the wind that was once a tornado