Truth is life and life is pain
Like a wild man possessed – the truth can’t be tamed
Truth is razor blades and chisels, cutting flesh and splitting bone
And a prophet has no honour within the walls of his own home
What is water? What is wine? What is blood?
The promises of men? Or castles built of sticks and straw and mud?
When mountains rise, when the mirror cracks
When grace invades and you can’t go back?
Love is hard – hard to give and hard to take
Hard to live with or live without, and even harder to fake
Love takes no prisoners, wears no masks and tells no lies
It ties up strong men, fractures hearts and opens eyes
What is water? What is wine? What is blood?
The accolades of men? Or empires built of sticks and straw and mud?
When mountains rise, when Pangea cracks
When grace invades and you can’t go back?
When the winners serve the losers, when the princes serve the poor
When the kings wait on their servants and the bigots feed the whores
When the bankers ask forgiveness and the fascists learn to read
When grace becomes our currency, what more shall we need?
Truth is an enigma hiding in plain sight
Holding answers to the questions we’re determined not to find
Love brooks no ranks or hierarchies and suffers no demands
And never plays the patsy in the palm of evil hands
What is water? What is wine? What is blood?
The accolades of men? Or empires built of sticks and straw and mud?
When mountains rise, when the planet cracks
When grace invades and you can’t go back?