Samuel Aging Spalding was from Spokane

Right around the corner from the church

Just above his temples he was balding

Hear him pray, hear him pray



You bestow your blessing on the heads of the living

His words are like a soft bell

Listen to the dead voice and the silence that is ringing

Like an echo in a dying well



He dipped his pen in ink and stayed up writing

half that night and the following day

Breathing smoke and doing coke

And fighting to stay awake

To stay awake



If a thousand chandeliers could have been there shining

In the country of a cold sleep

He might’ve been steered to a faith that was blinding

Instead of stumbling in his own defeat



Samuel

I think you said too much

Samuel 

There’s always something there behind you 



Samuel

Your sentence dead five times before it hit the ground

and it the ground and it sounds like...



Well he raked his eyes and read what he had laid down.

His tongue was dry, his eyes were moist and red.

Exhuasted from the work he went and laid down

and the writing read and the writing read



Run walk or stagger to you old lifes hanging 

It doesn’t matter if it feels right

Funnel yourself through to the world your planning

Riding on your insight.



Spells and curses, bells and churches

Peeling bells the silence swells