Nighttime - Robert Hood

Nobody's making me say this I'm talking to you Been travelþing 17 hours Irradiated by signals by images Of viruses of virtues Like everyone Like exiled angels

The village idiot takes the throne His the wind in which all must sway All sane people die now Be lifted up and carried away You've got no home in this world of

Here comes those silver celestial horses Rays of the moon in the mountain air I'm steeped in the steam of the last wild hot spring Maybe I'm melting but I don't

Moon of plenty moon of mischance It'll be what you want but you can't stop the dance Try to count the steps and they change while you stare And the translucent

Amid the rumours and the expectations And all the stories dreamt and lived Amid the clangour and the dislocation And things to fear and to forgive Don't forget

Picture on magazine boardroom pop star Pinstripe prophet of peckerhead greed Trickle down will give us everything we need Brand new century private penitentiary

Messenger Wind - Bruce Cockburn Sun coming up paints the snow all around with rose light In front of the house where I'm supposed to be born I don't think I'm r