White Light

White Light - Gene Clark

Oh the village of the hill

Sitting silently at will

Like some prophecy forgotten

By an age

With no guns before its gate

The mysterious estate

Lies waiting for its history's dawning page

With the raging of the sea

Before its height

And the strength of those

Whom see beyond their sight

Oh the smithies anvil rings

And the symphony it sings

No voice nor poet's pen can put to tune

And electric lines of force

Ring around the humble lives

Of the souls that hear the master saying soon

With the clouds

That gather near disturb the night

Striking flashes of a difference

Fleeing fright

No slight of tongue nor hand

Can so boldly there withstand

When the spirit of it's truth

Shall speak the time

And no ignorance of life

Can be held within the sight

Of the buttresses of ageless binds of time

The communion of the forces

Take delight

With the fear that no tongues

May read nor write

White Light

Oh the village of the hill

Sitting silently still

With the strength of ages past

They're still at hand

Reckons not to look behind

But to look within and find

And to hear of those enlightened

By the lamb

With the powers of the wind

Both fierce and light

And the waters of the storm

Went through the night