| If dust could only talk
|
| What would we hear it say?
|
| Before it’s brushed aside
|
| Just as it’s swept away
|
| It’s just the evidence
|
| It’s of no consequence
|
| It’s only flesh and bone
|
| Why don’t you leave it alone?
|
| If dust could only speak
|
| Caught in a falling beam
|
| If dust could only cry
|
| If dust could only scream
|
| For it’s the single witness that might testify
|
| Could I spit out the truth?
|
| Or would you rather just swallow a lie?
|
| But dust is always caught behind a coat of paint
|
| Beneath the marble fingernails of kings and saints
|
| And in the theatre curtain where they hang a drape
|
| Or in the ticket pocket where your hands escape
|
| Before they start to wander
|
| Or they start to shrink
|
| You rub your eye a little and appear to blink
|
| And then she caught you staring
|
| She knows just what you’re thinking
|
| What got into you was not a ghost as such
|
| It was just dust
|
| Here comes the juggernaut
|
| Here come The Poisoners
|
| They choke the life and land
|
| And rob the joy from us
|
| Why do they taste of sugar
|
| Oh, when they’re made of money
|
| Here comes the lamb of God
|
| And the butcher’s boy, Sonny
|
| Well I believe we just
|
| Become a speck of dust… |