The Preacher - Show Of Hands

I am the preacher on the island

Seven years lived alone

I try to bring some comfort to a world of sea and stone

There are no trees onthe island

Nowhere to shelter or hide

The men tear the rocks from the quarry or take their

Chances on the tide

I fell in love with the wife of a man who lays the fuse

When I heard the thunder from the earth I knew I had to

Choose

Between falling and my cold, cold calling

They used to walk beside the water, voices blown by the

Wind

And I would watch from the distance and I’d dream I was

Him

Then he found work on the mainland, oh how I prayed

That something would tear them apart, force her to stay

Oh I was falling and the cold, cold was calling

Next day, they called me to the quarry, there was

Something badly wrong

A man lay crushed by falling rock, his life almost gone

I knew his face in the darkness, I didn’t need to know

The name

All my prayers had been answered and I was the one to

Blame

I closed his eyes and looked up, she was running

Through the rain

She took him in her arms and begged the Lord to give

Him life again

And if I should live all the seven ages of man

Seven tides will never wash all the blood from my hands

I am the preacher on the island, I live on my own

I used to pray but now I leave my maker well alone

Just like the chapels on the island my heart’s dark and

Overgrown

I try to find some comfort in the world of sea and

Stone