There’s an oasis in the heat of day; there’s a fire in the chill of night,
And a turnabout in circumstance makes each a hell in its own right,
I’ve been boxed in, in the lowlands, in the canyons that think,
Then pushed to the brink of the precipice; dared not to blink,
I’ve been confounded in the whirlwinds of what-ifs and dreams,
Been burned by the turning of the wind back on my own flames.
Knock the scales from my eyes,
Knock the words from my lungs,
I want to cry out,
It’s on the tip of my tongue,
Oh, tip of my tongue.
I’ve seen through the walls of this kingdom of dust, felt the crucial revelation,
Yeah, but the broad streets of the heart and the day-to-day meet at some blind intersection,
Oh, I don’t want to be lonely, I don’t want to feel pain,
I don’t want to draw straws with the sons of Cain,
You can take it as a prayer if you remember my name,
You can take it as the penance from a profane saint.
Knock the scales from my eyes,
Knock the words from my lungs,
I want to cry out,
It’s on the tip of my tongue,
Knock the scales from my eyes,
Knock the words from my lungs,
I want to cry out,
It’s on the tip of my tongue,
The tip of my tongue.
There’s an oasis in the heat of day; there’s fire in the chill of night,
And when I know them both I’ll know your love; I will feel it in the twilight,
Oh, as circumstance comes crashing through my walls like a train, or like a chorus from the mountains of the ocean floor,
Like a wind burst of bird wings taking flight in a hard rain, like a mad dog on the far side of Dante’s door.
Knock the scales from my eyes,
Knock the words from my lungs,
I want to cry out,
It’s on the tip of my tongue,
Knock the scales from my eyes,
Knock the words from my lungs,
I want to cry out,
It’s on the tip of my tongue,
Knock the scales from my eyes,
Knock the words from my lungs,
I want to cry out,
It’s on the tip of my tongue,
Oh, tip of my tongue,
The tip of my tongue,
Tip of my tongue.
