Fast to the edge Close to the south The remains of the sky Are woven into shrouds Broken and wild Charcoal in black The promise of rain Is swollen in the clouds Strange is the man free in his heart Strange is the man unchained at last Clear is the sap Under the bark Carried from the root It opens the bud Dry is the tongue Cracked at the mouth He trembles in thanks As he drinks from the cup Strange is the man free in his heart Strange is the man unchained at last Over at the seam Red to the vein He's whispering soft All the names of the dead Laughing to himself Unbound and set Now the wind is his pillow And the skies are his bed Strange is the man free in his heart Strange is the man unchained at last