ain't it passing strange?

words
it ain't right
to poke the dirt
with a poet gone blind

and you
you're the same
as all the others
my other wasted friends

aint it passing strange?
like the wings of a dove in the driving rain?
white as the bleach bone shore
as the father, son, and the holy ghost

writing on the barnside door
isn't gettin it done
it can't anyhow, anymore

she's up all night
with the wind
and the rain
it begins

aint it passing strange?
like the wings of a dove in the driving rain?
white as the bleach bone shore
as the father, son, and the holy ghost

we're doomed to love
breath upon breath
like a leash on a good dog

right now
we aint sure
if the souls corrected
or gone out to war

aint it passing strange?
like the wings of a dove in the driving rain?
white as the bleach bone shore
as the father, son, and the holy ghost

right here and now
we aint calling
for an act of passion
or an act of war

we are a wandering souls
and the days done gone
and the days gone cold

aint it passing strange?
like the wings of a dove in the driving rain?
white as the bleach bone shore
as the father, son, and the holy ghost