Words get written, words get twisted   Old meanings move in the drift of time   Lift the flickering torches, see gentle shadows change   The features of the faces cut in unmoving stone      Bad mouth on a prayer day   Hope no one's listening   Roots down in the wet clay   Branches glistening      True disciples carrying that message   To color just a little with their personal touch   Home-spun fancy weavers and naked half believers   Crusades and creeds descend like fiery flakes of snow      Bad mouth on a prayer day   Hope no one's listening   Roots down in the wet clay   Branches glistening      Roots to branches   Roots to branches   Roots to branches      In wet and windy priest holes, grand in vast cathedrals   High on lofty minarets or in a temples of doom   I hope the old man's got his face on   He'd better be some quick change artist   Suffer little children to make their minds up soon      Bad mouth on a prayer day   Hope no one's listening   Roots down in the wet clay   Branches glistening      Roots to branches   Roots to branches   Roots to branches      Roots to branches   Roots to branches   Roots to branches