What draws that body to the surgeon, love
A barren moon scarred with cloud pulls at the tide of their singing
Stone upon stone, they build a can of praise
Boulders of memory, some thrown, some placed
Some carried with their neighbours
They are guided, stroked, beguiled by the percenter
Within the walls of fate
Blessed is he, amongst the women
They are full of desire, the lord is with them
His people are feeling for God, deep in the hall of the church
They are the fruit of its womb
And when that hour's come, the service is over
They spill upon the outcrop and the roads
Women flash in colour, men in mourning
As the rack gives up its children to a land which takes and takes
From a people who give and give
Expecting a hard answer to their prayers
Now, and that the hour of their death
They cleared the ground of stones and sin
But always another lurking
Shadows in a dream of pasture
Upon his church, they have built a rock
Their sins are both forgiven and retained
While from the stacks of Hell, the kelpies cry