Storm in the Eye of God

The Sailor-man who knew the truth Below the shingle, sand and weed Battened down the memories Of the "Motor Vessel Cruel Deed" The purple veins across his cheeks Ran scarlet in the sunset's pyre He heard the bosun tell the crew "There are no pictures in the fire" "There's only a storm in the eye of God" Only a storm in the eye of God The Eskimo had settled down To sleep away the endless years His rifle and his crucifix He tied and tethered to his fears Without the sun, his unicorn And had to perished in the frozen mire He'd learned the hunter's homily There are no pictures in the fire There's only a storm in the eye of God Only a storm in the eye of God The peasant squatted in the mud Upon the ground that he had ploughed His lifted eyes and leather lines Appeasing every gathered cloud His spirit, ash to history's flame Went wheezing through the creeping briar The sun bled through the thorns and said "There are no pictures in the fire" "There's only a storm in the eye of God" Only a storm in the eye of God As the ones and twos became a flood So we became discourteous The peasants and the sailors and The hunters and the rest of us Took aim as they approached the flame And shot away their leading tyre There may be comfort in their dreams There are no pictures in the fire There's only a storm in the eye of God Only a storm in the eye of God