(Gary Moore/Jon Hiseman)
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There's none to call the wind a liar.
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Save those whose limbs can flow as fast.
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Can creep up on unwatchful truth,
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And pluck her sleeves, distract her eyes.
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And leave in place the fitting image,
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Burnished bright with the rub of easy belief.
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The deafest ears hear falsehood's bell
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A-tolling in the Belfry.
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The loudest tongue is his
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Whose ear is untuned to what's likely.
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And thus the knowing spark
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Is fanned into the mindless flame,
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Denouncing all across its path.
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It blots all trace of blame.
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Only the blind man touches a hand
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And feels a heart afire.
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Only the blind man sees so well,
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He can call the wind a liar, liar, liar, liar.
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Behold the boomerang
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Returns riding before the wind.
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History written afresh
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As the beginning becomes the end, end, end, end.
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Only the blind man touches a hand
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And feels the heart afire.
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Only the blind man sees so well,
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He can call the wind a liar, liar, liar, liar.
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Behold the boomerang
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Returns riding before the wind.
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History written afresh
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As the beginning becomes the,
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Beginning becomes the end.
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-----------------
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Winds
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| Colosseum II |
