Date: Fri, 1 Aug 1997 16:46:57 -0400 (EDT)
From: Andrew Wayne Austin <aaustin-AT-utkux.utcc.utk.edu>
Subject: M-I: The Flood




The Flood
by Peter Gabriel and Robert Fripp

When the night shows,
As signals grow on radios,
All the strange things,
That come and go as early warnings,
Stranded starfish has no place to hide,
Still waiting for the swollen Eastern tide.

There's no point in direction,
We cannot even choose a side.

I took the old track,
The hollow shoulder across the waters.
On the tall cliffs,
They were getting older, sons and daughters.
The jaded underworld was riding high,
On waves of steel, held metal at the sky.

And as the nail sunk in the cloud,
the rain was warm and soaked the crowd.

Lord, here comes the flood.
We'll say goodbye to flesh and blood.
If again the seas are silent, if any still alive,
It'll be those who gave their island to survive.

Drink up dreamers, you're running dry.

When the flood calls,
You'll have no home you'll have no walls.
In the thunder crash,
You're a thousand miles within a flash.
Don't be afraid to cry at what you see.
The act is gone there's only you and me.

And if we break before the dawn,
We'll use up what we used to be.

Lord, here comes the flood.
We'll say goodbye to flesh and blood.
If again the seas are silent, if any still alive,
It'll be those who gave their island to survive.

Drink up dreamers, you're running dry.




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