In Ceremonies Of The Horsemen,

The Dirt Of Gossip Blows Into My Face And The Dust Rumors Cover Me. But If The Arrow Is Straight And The Point Is Slick, It Can Pierce Through Dust No Matter How Thick.

Some Are Masters Of Illusions, Some Are Ministers Of Trade, All Under The Same Delusion, All Their Beds Unmade.

I Never Saw Myself As A Folk Singer.

How Can The Life Of Such A Man Be In The Palm Of Some Fools Hand?

I Heard The Tongues Of Angels And The Tongues Of Men And It All Sounded No Different To Me.