When the preacher lays his insight down...

From Bruce Cockburn's "Southland of the Heart":

...When thoughts you've tried to leave behind
Keep sniping from the dark
When the fire burns inside you but
You jump from every spark
When your

heart's beset by memories
You wish you'd never made
When the sun comes up an enemy
And nothing gives you shade

In the southland of the heart
Where the saints go lazily
Lie down
Take your rest with me

When the preacher lays his insight down
And claims to lead the blind
When those you trust just get you hooked
And trifle with your mind
When the nightmare's creeping closer
And your wheels are in the mud
When everything's ambiguous
Except the taste of blood
In the southland of the heart
There's no question of degree
Lie down
Take your rest with me....