Marc Almond Dust
Behind the dirt sprawled before us
Behind narrow eyes and faces of fat
Beyond those hands opened or closed
That strain in vain nor raise their fists
Further than frontiers that barb our path
Further than misery we must look
We must look at what is beauty
The grey sky or blue
The women by the stream
The faithful friend, tomorrow's sun
The fly to the swallow
The boat that returns
The faithful friend, tomorrow's sun
The fly to the swallow
The boat that returns
Beyond the concert of sobs and tears
Of cries, of anger, of men in fear
Beyond the din of streets and singers
Of warning sirens, of swearing porters
Stronger than children who recount the wars
And stronger than the great who've made us make them
We must listen to the bird in the wood
The murmur of summer, the rising of blood
The mother soft songs, the children's prayer
And the noise of the earth gently falling to sleep
The mother soft songs, the children's prayer
And the noise of the earth gently falling to sleep
We must listen, we must look
