There’s a light storm beyond the event horizon,
I stand by the door and watch across the dark, the garden.
In the car park, one of the priests of the village
Holding tightly to each palm, he said
I will overcome you.
February’s cold sweat concrete tower
Coiled up and whispering, both hands over his eyes
I will overcome you.
Weave a circle round the prize
And close your eyes to holy dread,
‘Cause he on flesh and bone has fed
And drunk the blood of paradise
I will overcome you.
