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