BLOOD ON THE SNOW

When you’re twenty-five cents shy of a whiskey jug,
And you have no roof over your head,
And you can’t tell the water from the blood,
And Jaded Minstrels steal into your head.
When the wind bites and clouds are
And you see the fog will never lift,
But you wish you could at least see the ship’s stern,
But to see means your lantern,
To see means your lantern must be lit.

When you’re so caught up in the situation,
That your mind is blind to sight and sound,
And your excitement turns to desperation,
Then you’ll know what I’m on about.
When the cars file by in a funeral train,
As you kneel where the Prophets once stood,
But your Guide is revealed to be a Blind Man,
And your friends, they’re all lepers,
Your friends, they’re all lepers made of wood.

When you’ve fenced in the Truth with barbed wire
And the Jaded Minstrels dance and draw near.
So you swear it’s time for a revelation,
Even though it’s what you’ve always feared.
When it doesn’t matter if the pain’s good or evil,
‘Cause you want to bleed, but you don’t know how.
And there’s a Man in the wilderness calling you,
And you see with your own eyes,
You see with your own eyes He was there then and now.

Then we can talk about victim’s extremes.
We can talk about loving your neighbor.
We can talk about prisons in your mind.
We can talk about blood on the snow.
We can talk about hanging around.
We can talk about moving on.
We can talk about prolonging the fight.
We can talk about blood on the snow -
Or we can talk about you,
Talk about you,
Talk about you,
Talk about you.