[mais que um nocturno mais-que-perfeito:
um espiritual para o fim do tempo restante]



Oh, oh deep water, black and cold like the night
I stand with arms wide open, I've run a twisted line
I'm a stranger in the eyes of the Maker

I could not see for the fog in my eyes
I could not feel for the fear in my life
And from across the great divide, 
In the distance I saw a light
Jean Baptiste's walking to me with the Maker

My body is bent and broken by long and dangerous sleep
I can't work the fields of Abraham and turn my head away
I'm not a stranger in the hands of the Maker

Brother John, have you seen the homeless daughters
Standing there with broken wings
I have seen the flaming swords 
There over east of Eden
Burning in the eyes of the Maker

(Oh, river rise from your sleep...)