Indian Rope Man

Fog dangling thick

Can't see the right road, streets are sick

The eight day mill

It might grind slow but it grinds fine



Indian rope man, while looking on

Tells common clay he's heavenly born

Retired layman looks on in scorn

With a transplanted heart

Kiss him quick, he has to part, yeah, yeah



Indian rope man sees the times

Splitting loose the edge of minds

Catching losers in his line, in his line, yeah

Kiss him quick, he has to part, part, yeah, yeah



Indian rope man flexes his eye

Dissolving the fog, revealing the lie

Indian rope man holds my trick in his heart, yeah

Kiss him quick, he has to part, part, yeah, yeah



Indian rope man sees all strife

Cutting down eternal life

When his soul transcends his heart, oh

Kiss him quick, he has to part, yeah, yeah