Norwegian Soft Kitten – Seasons of Retribution

I came to a stop along the highway, and turned to face the sun, low in the sky, its golden crown framing the steeple of an old wooden church, left vacant long ago by a town that had forgotten its way. And as I took steps toward the church, I smelled dust in the air, and it reminded me of the dry wind blowing over fields of rice in northern China, where none is grown, and where I ain’t never been

Chorus 1

How many foreign seeds unsown?
How many mistakes you made alone?
How many spirits can you break?
How many realities at stake?

Verse 2

And as I stepped through thе broken doors of the church, and felt my wеight straining the ancient floor, I saw the cross standing tall before me, and I made the sign over my profane body, and over all the things I’d done to bring me there. I wanted to turn and run, but it was too late. The sign had been made. No exit

Chorus 2

How many demons live inside?
How many disgraceful names you’ve cried?
How many days of justice done?
How many forgotten chances won?

Verse 3

And as I made my peace in that place, a noise came from behind me. No sooner had it passed through those doors than I turned with all my heart’s fear and pulled the trigger. The man slumped down and laid at my feet. He looked tired

Verse 4

And as I straddled the pool of blood expanding beneath me, I reached down between my legs, and felt that it was totally dry. And for a moment, I couldn’t believe myself, standing there in the house of God, touching my junk

Chorus 3

How many nails gone through your feet?
How many transgressions you repeat?
How many faces fell away?
How many replacements here to stay?

Chorus 4

How many houses can you burn?
How many life sentences you earn?
How many people think you’ve died?
How many excuses you provide?

Verse 5

And as I thought crazy thoughts of that weekend in Montevideo where everything turned hazy, and I had to flee the country with only the clothes on my back and sixty million pesos in my pocket, I realized for the first time again how good it felt to be on the right side of a gun

How many sons of bitches wed?
How many arms akimbo in your bed?
How many thoughts of poison drink?
How many dark notions can you think?

Verse 6

And as I tucked myself back in and washed my hands with spit and scorpion venom, my eyes never left the man slumped at my feet. I dipped my arm in his blood and touched his tired face. His body was my muse; his blood, my palette; his final thought, didn’t matter. A few strides later I was outside, looking back at the church, dim against the darkening sky. I touched the brim of my hat out of respect, and rolled back out onto that highway, the rice fields of northern China shimmering before me

Chorus 6

Time to go, time to ride
Time to keep the devil by your side
Time to feel prophetic rain
Time to leave this terrible domain
Time to head for rolling hills
Time to see what destiny fulfills