There are no more giants
No thoughts about a free zone
Only old church floors
Voices of redemption, acts of sin
Lying cold on tile
Missing
Hands can come from heaven
Wrap themselves around the temple
Deep down, casting off the night
They can scream for me
Will they find my pain?
My words?

Found in San Francisco
Seen with blacks fighting
The Klu Klux Klan

But will it . . . save . . . my . . . soul?

Lost in Portland, Oregon running
Down fire exits on lonely
Roof tops.
Killing tagger fiends