It's not the tune that makes the man
nor the words writ from his hand
but when he shakes from fear and loss
they both come crawling out of him
He will not choose the form it takes
only its hours and its days
and then it rises from the sand
it is brought forth by no mistake
So let it move about
let it howl and shout
without hindering or stepping in its way
when at last it is done
you will know it by the sound
of silence in the room when it is played
now Jacob Christopher, you've run
from every song under the sun
by heeding words spoken o'er mine
and I will not listen when you strum

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