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Folklore - текст

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On From Here Walkin Dreams Awake
I Think Not I Think Not
The Sky Comes King Blown in Every Direction
And of no Country
I Am Straw

It Is no Mystery
I Know My Way From Here

Iron Sharpens Iron
Crooked Wooden and Peacock Black
I Have Your Feathers
Slung Across My Back
I´m Not the Only One
To Help You Down the Hill
My Blue Knuckles do As They Will

It Is no Mystery
I Know My Way From Here

One As Precious As the Other
They Go With Me
For Today I Am Not a False Conscience
A Tyrant
Angels Line My Pockets Dear
I Walk a Hutterite Mile
Look At Me This Once
Put An Eye to My Step
Look and Furrow
Its Only Misery Its Only Ankle Deep

It Is no Mystery
I Know My Way From Here