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The High Dials
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Holy Ground
Put down roots in what you've found
Cling like a tree to the holy ground
Seeking dark rivers far underground
Drink from the rivers they're all around
Take my right eye, bring a flame to my tongue
By shadowy pools where the moon is young
Out of the wasteland we'll make our home
Under the mountain in ocean foam
Tell me how to make this true
Point out the way that I must move
To plant a flag under shifting skies
Shine a light as the moments die
Tell me how to make this true
Point out the way that I must move
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I had a fire in my head
I hooked a berry to a thread
I caught myself a silver trout
I came home and the lights went out
You seek the scent like a pack of hounds
You strain your ears for the secret sounds
Weaving your thorns into little crowns
What will you wear when the sun goes down?
Come on, come on, come on, come on
Live on this holy ground
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