it was high summer nineteen thirty two
in the depths of Kansas backwood
that he drifted out of the heat haze on the
long thin road from Topeka
with her delicate face folded in his Sears Roebuck catalog
he strides casually along the ***** worn pavement
neatly stacked in his three piece suit
pressed and measured as his clothes
he is the image of prosperity and educated class
but the seething and vile is always just benith the surface
in such hot unforgiving places

he came walking slow ahead  of the rain
drifting in like a plague ahead of the cleansing
he came in like a figure out of the old testament
gonna break this place
gonna burn it down to the very last sinning soul
with this rusty blade i shall cleave you from this hell
with this choking dust im gonna lay this place to waste
and its gonna be steel water to get me on
gonna take hammer blow to wake me from this heat haze slumber

the metal rim glasses lay by the roadside
there was blood on the lens
there was a single fingerprint
like an admission of guilt or of hope

she sweated kneeling in the field
the crop wasnt worth bringing to market
but she had no earthly idea what else to do but try
but suddenly she felt it from miles out
it felt like the cold hand of death itself
felt like the broken scream of a million years of souls burning in hell
it felt like he was coming home

he quickened his pace
his tread now was stuttered thunder
on hardpack
like a pack of wild dogs
he strained at the leash to keep from running
he is so close
closer than he has been in a thousand years
closer than the day that young man died as a thief's death
closer than lovers
he could see her in the feild
she had just turned to run
and now the fire within begins
like a world of hurt
like a man on fire

we wait for him
we wait for them
in the Topeka sun