On the fringes of torso and lips
Straining to hear the voice of gospel choir
Pummelled plains, beaten fields
We're never broken in spirit within
And I feel like we're coming around
Cloudburst teeming, insect wave and bite
Yes its true, we are never alone
TV silence it's a narrow entrance
It's a sometimes leading into future time
Sins of omission, no love . . .
I heard it once before in shepherd's isolation
Over the horizon in blue and white
No overcome you can outrun it
When the roarings cease,
The right stuff weaves and fits into your life
And I feel like we're coming around . . .
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