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 stoneBad mouth on a prayer day
Hope no one's listening
Roots down in the wet clay
Branches glisteningTrue 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 snowBad mouth on a prayer day
Hope no one's listening
Roots down in the wet clay
Branches glisteningRoots to branches
Roots to branches
Roots to branchesIn wet and windy priest holes, grand in vast cathedrals
High on lofty minarets or in a 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 soonBad mouth on a prayer day
Hope no one's listening
Roots down in the wet clay
Branches glisteningRoots to branches
Roots to branches
Roots to branchesRoots to branches
Roots to branches
Roots to branches
Songwriters
IAN ANDERSONPublished by
Lyrics © BMG RIGHTS MANAGEMENT US, LLC Song Discussions is protected by U.S. Patent 9401941. Other patents pending.