Misted Maker

In my mind I hear the essence of the truth
Terrible lies, wits divide, then awaken in the proof
Blessed am I for all the shadows that shake hands
Starry-eyed, misted maker of these lands
Her words are the ripple, tearing fabric of the skies
I am but the poet who sings prose for a prize
Ohh and I feel it coming on
This life and the next I’d have spent with you
Oh and now I see my worth in stone
And I no longer need what doesn’t serve the truth
Broken down, war-bound, holding out the front
The hills and the mountains they are watchers of the sun
But I am just a Spector, out on the run
Dealing cards to feel corrected, ready for what’s to come
Oh and I feel it coming on
This life and the next I’d have spent with you
Oh and now I see my worth in stone
And I no longer need what doesn’t serve the truth
Oh and I feel it coming on
This life and the next I’d have spent with you
Oh and now I see my worth in stone
And I no longer need what doesn’t serve the truth