It was out in the wastelandnAnd the boar was standing stillnI was hanging like a reptilenWith the fire down belownSo I climbed the big scenenTo watch the river flownnKachina never spoke of weathernNor the mercy on a bed of nailsnBut someone should have checked the waterlinenThey’re drowning in among the killsnAnd this winternComes on like a bitter vinennThere is a place there by that broken towernA den of preachers couldn’t keep at baynBound to the current of an open seanWe are too afraid to listennnLong before that daynIn the guise of waternThere came a desert rainnnAnd the Grinding Wheel will turnnAnd to that sea we can follow her downnWhere there is room for the meeknFar from the din and the squalornnHigh on the gunfirenFar from the wheelnHands never touch the bodiesnAnd eyes never see the sunnI lie awake in this seasonnAnd stay close to the open roadnAs they go dancing in the fieldsnDigging deep for that motherlodennAnd down in the millnIt’s just a bird in the big blue skynA lion in the wheelnIs just a stone in the deep blue seannLong before that daynIn the guise of waternThere came a desert rainnnOh, and the Grinding Wheel will turnnAnd to that sea we can follow her downnWhere there is room for the meeknFar from the din and the squalornnAnd the Grinding Wheel will turnnA better road for the fallow and sanenWhere there is room for the meeknFar from the din and the squalornnShe dances alone by the waterlinenFind another cheek to turn awaynWhile the boar lies still inside the nakednSpirit...n...come to me