The fortune telling lady, who sits ready in a rolling valley,
Puts her cards out and says as she smiles, “Young man, I hope you choose wisely.”
And the iron-clad angel returns one last time before heaven’s army sets final sail.
Removing her veil, she plays her golden trumpet. A note, eternal, she cries, “Hail!”.
And upon the desert path there is no sound, and alone stands a royal palm.
Heaven ascends into a distant dawn, and in it’s wake leaves a human psalm.
On a lonesome paved path, along the waiting suspended plain,
Lies a mountain where at it’s peak falls the first drop of the rain.
And the soothing aroma, the evening spire, blankets the earth in regressed, primordial slumber.
And the deserts grey fades away to the tune of the rolling thunder.
And at the landing stands a man grey jacket and fedora, scrolled paper tied with ribbon in the palm of his hands;
And he gazes up at the darkening peak, for a reunion, he understands.
He climbs the rocky slope now and he hears a whisper from the near corner of the sky;
As it descends upon his shoulders, low, and surrounds once more the ancient eye.
And far in the valley, beneath the gathering storm, he sees the baby deer, the father and the doe,
Embracing one another in the breath of it all; Love seems a glimmer from those soft depths below.
And looking to the sky, seeing only the rain, he shrugs and he marches on.
He gave up on matters of love and pain, he was told “Life goes on.”
At the peak awaits a young man, Jude, who’s arrived only to hear and to see.
To hear the sun gasps its last, and watch the rays fall to the sea.
Enter the man in grey, as he approaches this young man.
With his eyes of ice, he hands him his diploma and says “Stay now and face Pandora.”
With a lightning flash he turns away, and the young man knows there’ll be no curtain call.
Where the light once shone, he now stands alone. He says, “Perhaps I’m better off.”
Out and across the eastern dune, the tradesman and politician exchange old deeds.
Across King Arthur’s trading table, they wince and they croon, no longer aware of what each other means.
From his coat the tradesman removes a scripture, telling tales of fire and fallen snow.
The politician, he laughs out loud and says, “You know the truth is I gave up long ago.”
And as the night falls and the sands, they rise, the tradesman looks down, and smiles serene.
He closes his eyes and he sees the Divine, sailing somewhere on a sea of green.
Atop the mountain peak remains the young man, Jude, and he beholds the crystal sea;
A day looming somewhere far to the other side, smiling in tumbling leaves.
Into the storm he heads straight on, and with the wind his boat takes fight.
He’ll look for those who’ve seen it too, the phantom flame of the young, violent night.
So off he goes into the lightning wilds, as the storm rages on.
And in peaceful slumber lie the deer and the doe, while the child sings the Human Psalm.