©1979 Andrew Calhoun, recorded on Water Street.
It makes no difference, how I behave,
Things are good, things are bad, I'm a king and a slave;
I'm a rock and a stone, a sea and a wave,
Waiting for the shoreline to reach me,
Waiting for the shoreline to reach me.
One with the truth has the bull by the horns
Lucky to breathe and to be kept born,
Illusions will shatter as the body is shorn
Of the leaves that grew in the morning,
Of the leaves that grew in the morning.
God had a bowtie, God had a gun,
He was your little brother, he was looking for his fun,
He went up you and down you with a knife and the sun,
Paused at the threshold of swallowing you,
Paused at the threshold of swallowing you.
One with a lie has the bull by the tail,
Lucky to strangle, lucky to fail,
Is pulled to and fro through the dirt by the bull
Like a leaf in the wind in the winter,
A leaf in the wind in the winter.
Listen to the footsteps, beating on the bridge,
Running past the rivers where dead men live,
They are walking off the mountain, they are falling off the ledge,
Their wish is firmly broken and their souls are pledged,
Their wish is firmly broken and their souls are pledged.
Those who hold no handle but to wish their bodies well
Are sanctified in terror, counted out in Hell
Go wandering in limbo with their lives and bellies ful,l
To finish up in silence in the belly of the bull,
To finish up in silence in the belly of the bull.