The Spirit

Peter Hammill

Such distance to the tips of the fingers,
The ganglion loom jerks inside;
The body grows steadily stranger
But the spirit won't be denied.
That sharp halogen flash jars the eyeball,
The limbs pump in overdrive;
The body grows seemingly weaker
But the s
Pirit won't be denied.
Yeah, the ash-mark stands out on the forehead
As the vacuum sneaks up on the eyes;
The body becomes a constant traitor
But the spirit won't be denied.
And they call that living a normal live,
But normality's not standardized.
Though the body gets ever more root-bound
The spirit won't be denied
Yes, the spirit survives.