all the painted glass seems to roll right off your eyes
pretend that you see nothing,
but this face you can't deny
for there are a thousand hungry soldiers in five hundred fallen towns
and through every broken window
you can hear the distant sound
of the drummer who believes
that the raven's coming by
he's got no lighting in his hands
and the rhythm aksing why
so we are standing, we are marching
until the time cannot stand still
while the leagues in desperation are lined up against their will
'cause there's a worn out road over the pass,
it's closed with rock and stone
so we're climbing over rubble packing only chance and bone
for the sweeyest smell will welcome you,
the ridge more than a prayer
when the breath of your ambitions
is now all that you can bare.
comin down comin down
like salt from your eyes,
like lips upon the riverbed
longin for the rise
comin' down comin' down comin' down
and that dusk in mountain colors
fades from blue to red to black
you glance over your sore shoulder,
it's too dark now to turn back
but the fire by your campsite
keeps you warm enough to dream
of your long forgotten wedding day,
it's time to be redeemed
for there are a thousand hungry soldiers
in five hundred fallen towns
and through every broken window
you can hear the honest sound
of the drummer who believes
that the raven's comin' by
he's got lighting in his hands
and the rhythm asking why
so we are standing, we are marching
until the time cannot stand still
while the leagues in deseperation
are locked up against their will
comin' down
comin' down
like salt from your eyes
like lips upon the river bed longing for the rise
comin' down comin' down comin' down

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