(originally Wash Yourself)



Wash yourself and see your sorrow, make every pitcher clean

Take a mop to swab the floor and destroy the evil dream

Counting houses full of lead, the evil eye on high

The streets awash with blood and pus, the new moon's in the sky

God's aloft, the winds are raging

God's aloft, the winds are cold

After leaving I was weeping - count it out in tolls

Watch the book, the page is turning - how the tale unfolds

Inside every cancered spectre,

inside-outside find your own

God's aloft, the winds are raging - God's aloft, the winds are cold