Nothing could save the Baptist   Not cross, not altar, nor crucifix   Old time lays waste the spirit   Without condoning or condemning   A complex sense of purpose   For those with eyes to see   “This town is afraid of me   With good reason,   It has see my true face”      [Solo Mendonca]      Walking freely among the enemy   The Baptists lack of inner capacity   Philosophical sagacity   It is not seen as a defect   But as a sign of strength   A sign of strength   "I shall lay my hands upon you   Feel my hands touch you"   As if the eyes of the blind come open   Here is the servant   In whom my soul delights   Ancient sadness of desert sands   An unending hymn of praise   To the Sanhedrin of Sheol   Everything is real   Everything dies   "I shall my hands upon you   Feel my hands touch, touching you..."   Here's the one in who my soul delights   Close enough to touch yet out of reach   Everything is real   Everything dies   ...close enough to touch you...      [Solo Wilcock]