Shelter From The Sand

Akercocke

Nothing could save the Baptist 
Not cross, not altar, nor crucifix 
Old time lays waste the spirit 
Without condoning or condemning 
A complex sense of purpose 
For those with eyes to see 
“This town is afraid of me 
With good reason, 
It has see my true face” 

[Solo Mendonca] 

Walking freely among the enemy 
The Baptists lack of inner capacity 
Philosophical sagacity 
It is not seen as a defect 
But as a sign of strength 
A sign of strength 
"I shall lay my hands upon you 
Feel my hands touch you" 
As if the eyes of the blind come open 
Here is the servant 
In whom my soul delights 
Ancient sadness of desert sands 
An unending hymn of praise 
To the Sanhedrin of Sheol 
Everything is real 
Everything dies 
"I shall my hands upon you 
Feel my hands touch, touching you..." 
Here's the one in who my soul delights 
Close enough to touch yet out of reach 
Everything is real 
Everything dies 
...close enough to touch you... 

[Solo Wilcock]