Words get written
Words get twisted
Old meanings move in the drift of time
Lift the flickering torches

See gentle shadows change
The features of the faces
Cut in unmoving stone
Bad mouth on a prayer day

Hope no one's listening
Roots down in the wet clay
Branches glistening

True disciples carrying that message
To color just a little
With their personal touch
Home-spun fancy weavers

And naked half-believers
Crusades and creeds descend like
Fiery flakes of snow
Bad mouth on a prayer day

Hope no one's listening
Roots down in the wet clay
Branches glistening
Roots to branches
Roots to branches
Roots to branches

In wet and windy priest-holes
Grand in vast cathedrals
High on lofty minarets
Or in the temples of doom

I hope the old man's got his face on
He'd better be some quick change artist
Suffer little children
To make their minds up soon

Bad mouth on a prayer day
Hope no one's listening
Roots down in the wet clay
Branches glistening

Roots to branches
Roots to branches
Roots to branches
Roots to branches
Roots to branches
Roots to branches