Home from the grey, from the shadows of machines to claim the reward of another done. Four on the floor, then we’re walking out the door. The rain like a call for another one. Wave after wave roll in like thunderous trains. Wave after wave. Crushed by the sea as smooth as an old stone, deep. There will be light come the morning. Hold tight till then to your sleep. Onerous sound breaks your slumber. Wash, rinse, soil then repeat. Repeat verse. Repeat Chorus. Wash, rinse, repeat. To the boys, to the girl, to the weeping tree.
Some old fogeys don't like the 'screaming' music. I might be an old fogey and I love the screaming music. High Tension can scream for me all they want. Richard Weems