June 28th, 2013
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TATTOO JESUS
It was all about a picture from an old magazine
Jesus in the arms of Mary Magdalen
Yes, it was all about a picture from an old magazine
Jesus in the arms of Mary Magdalen
Used to be a tattoo parlour
Going north on Guadaloupe
Artist there called Salvador
Come up from Mexico to Santa Fe
With his daughter - who never spoke
And his wife - the lovely Salome
That’s where I got religion
One minute down from 285 highway
It was a long hot summer
Back in eighty-four
Cottonwoods just starting to turn
When this big man comes through the door
Big man, come on a Harley
You could tell he’s a loner
Said he’d been searching for Jesus
All the way ‘cross Arizona
Big man full of sadness
There was grief in his eye
Like something in his heart was dead
Something else that didn’t want to die
He took out a picture
Torn from some magazine
Of Jesus with stigmata
In the arms of Mary Magdalen
It was all about a picture from an old magazine
Jesus in the arms of Mary Magdalen
He took off his waistcoat
His chest was smooth as silk and bare
He handed them the torn print and he said
‘I want that tattooed here!’
Like a man nailed to a cross
He lay down with arms stretched out wide
The pain on his face
Of a man crucified
. . . . .
The sun had long set
The work glowed like a prayer
Salvador rose slowly
From his working chair
One broken hand
Lay soft upon the heart
They waited in silence
For the broken beat to start
‘Cause it was all about a picture from an old magazine
Jesus in the arms of Mary Magdalen
Then Salvador’s daughter
Spoke - her first word ever
The man raised himself
Whole - free of the fever
I saw the passion of Jesus
Come alive!
And that’s when I got religion - - - - - - -
June 21st, 2013
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DARE I COME INTO TOUCH
Oh let me touch you
Let me hold you in the night
Oh let me taste the sweetness
Of this dark, dark light
Oh, dare I come into touch
Dare my flesh come alive
Dare I come into your light
Come into your love
Oh dare I shudder my soul
Dare I know my wound
Dare I come into touch
And let myself be found
Oh let me touch you
Let me hold you in the night
Oh let me taste the sweetness
Of this dark, dark light
Oh dare I know my passion
Dare I touch that place
Dare I touch those hands
And kiss that face
Oh dare I know the light
Behind the shadow
Dare I shrive my soul
Of all its sorrow
Oh let me touch you
Let me hold you in the night
Oh let me taste the sweetness
Of this dark, dark light
Aaaaaayeee Aaaaaayeee
Aaaaaayeee Aaaaaayeee
Oh let me touch you
Let me hold you in the night
Oh let me taste the sweetness
Of this dark, dark light
Oh let me taste the sweetness
Of this dark, dark light
June 21st, 2013
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THREE FEVER TREES
Give me three fever trees
White thorns to crown me
Blood on the wind
Forever all around me
Found an angel in a glass of wine
Saw a wild man in a river
Saw a white goat in a thorn bush
He was straining at a tether
Give me three fever trees . . . etc
I was a man without a footprint
Blood without a flame
I was a man lost in a desert
In a place without a name
Give me three fever trees . . . etc
I saw fire in the whirlwind
Heard the holy dove give cry
Saw a man of blood and wine
Lift up the sky
I saw three fever trees
White thorns to crown me
Blood on the wind
Forever all around me
He caught the whirlwind in a thorn tree
Turned the river into wine
Baptized the fever trees with fire
To make a sign
I saw three fever trees
White thorns to crown me
Blood on the wind
Forever all around me
I saw fire in the whirlwind
Footprints on the water
I was a man in love with blood and wine
Beside a holy river
I saw three fever trees … etc
I saw three fever trees
I saw three fever trees
I saw three fever trees
Haaaaa Ha!
Haaaaa Ha!
Haaaaa Haa Haa
Three fever trees
June 21st, 2013
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THE PURPLE DRESS
The purple grapes were plump and sweet
Soft with dusky bloom
Sweet and warm with summer sun
That late summer afternoon
She wore a purple velvet dress
White ribbon in her hair
She had taken off her sandals
And her slender young arms were bare
She wandered into the vineyard
Behind the lazy Easter fair
No one marked her absence
No one saw her disappear
Was it the purple grapes that called to her
Or some other voice she heard
Was it a hand that beckoned to her
Without a word?
The purple grapes were plump and sweet
Soft with dusky bloom
Sweet and warm with summer sun
That late summer afternoon
They found the little velvet dress
White ribbon tied to a vine
Four clods of earth round a cluster of grapes
To make a shrine
And the purple grapes were plump and sweet
Soft with dusky bloom
Sweet and warm with summer sun
That late summer afternoon
Sweet and warm with summer sun
That late summer afternoon