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Writer's pictureSpike Woods

Rivers of sin.

In this world of fortune there’s a hiding place,

No-one knows the hiding place but me.

I can walk among the rich and happy men,

Even put a smile on misery.

When the light is dark and life is near to death,

The faces on the wall are looking grim;

Tear the veil of sorrow with the second knife,

Use the third to kill the ghost of him.

Light the seventh candle with electric light,

Make the thirteenth round another sun;

Wallow in the sand until the trumpet blows –

Heaven’s early judgement has begun.

Do you see the arrow on the willow tree?

Follow in the wreckage of the dawn;

Make a number sign upon an open door,

Wear a crown of thorns and then be gone.

In the forking branches of a hollow tree,

Climb and sink below the waves of wind,

Ride the flying woman in the afternoon,

Sail upon the rivers of your sin.

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