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lyrics
The poison needle tip is rising through my bed
And from the belfry rings the curse of the undead
The hangman lays the burlap sack over my head
And I can’t catch my breath
The compass cracks with my reflection still within
The engine’s choked with dust, I’m caught in a tailspin
I pray to no one in particular, forgive my sins
Still I can’t keep from sinking
Heaven’s gaze I turn away
Furrowed brow and sick with pain
Ruminate on wasted days
Fallow futures weave an endless maze
Separate and alone
I regret to the bone every moment I am shown
Like the poor Cherokee
Flayed and fixed to the wheel of a careless industry
But devastation of soul
Feeds the germination of a seed that you have sown
Roots start taking hold
As shoots tear through the mould
My mind flower unfolds
(I’m) Swimming upstream
(Love) For no reason
(Light) I can feel it
(Time) Got no meaning
The poison needle is a symptom of being
The compass in this place is shed of all meaning
The hangman lifts his cowl, a smile revealing
I see it is my own
Beautiful, serene, ethereal, uplifting, charming, magical, thoughtful, delicate and powerful. Benny Jones's latest offering is a progressive folk triumph. Legs On Wheels