Down By The Velvet River
Down by the velvet river Sleeping with ghosts with head in hands Sitting down by the velvet river Sleep with ghosts and head in hands Feel the thunder coming Casting for conscience on the sands Running dry on smoke and mirrors Wash the colour from my face Running out of smokes for mirrors Washing the colours from my face Well I feel that thunder coming Casting for conscience out of place Touch the void within the echo Wear out the shadow of the sun I touch the void inside your echo Wearing the shadows for my sun Well I hear the thunder coming Cast out the conscience come undone Down on the velvet river To take the whisper by the hand Get on down to the velvet river And take that whisper in your hand No more the call of thunder coming Casting for conscience in the sand
That “velvet river” stayed with me. There’s something strange about searching for our conscience exactly where everything seems to be flowing away. And maybe that’s where, sometimes, we can finally hear it.