Tip of My Tongue
There’s an oasis in the heat of the day,
There’s a fire in the chill of night,
And a turnabout in circumstance
Makes each a hell in its own right.
I’ve been boxed in in the lowlands, in the canyons that think,
Been pushed to the brink of the precipice and dared not to blink.
I’ve been confounded in the whirlwind of what-ifs and dreams,
I’ve been burned by the turning of the wind back upon my own flames.
Knock the scales from my eyes,
Knock the words from my lungs.
I want to cry out,
It’s on the tip of my tongue.
Oh, I’ve seen through the walls of this kingdom of dust,
Felt the crucial revelation;
But the broad streets of the heart and the day-to-day meet
At a blind intersection.
I don’t want to be lonely, I don’t want to feel pain,
I don’t want to draw straws with the sons of Cain.
You can take it as a prayer if you’ll remember my name;
You can take it as the penance of a profane saint.
There’s an oasis in the heat of the day;
There’s fire in the chill of night.
When I know them both I’ll know your love—
I will feel it in the twilight—
As circumstance comes crashing through my walls like a train,
Or like a chorus from the mountains of the ocean floor,
Like the wind burst of bird wings taking flight in a hard rain,
Or like a mad dog on the far side of Dante’s door.
Words and music: Mark Heard
© 1992 iDEoLA Records
From the album Satellite Sky