the waves of the past are rolling up to the sand of the future
sing down sweet sing down summer heat gasoline and burning

(has the face, lies the snake...)

bass sounds deep on the face of it rolling across the desert
rolling across the green fields the edge of a cliff the sound
of the river

(in my youth, I pray to keep...)

howling grant howling a thousand voices howling and quiet before
the revolution I am the guitar wailing on grass on stone on

(black hole sun, won't you come...)

the waves are rolling the waves are roaring the howling fluxing
of perceptions and the bright indigo the sun searing red then

(and wash away the rain...)

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