Tekstovi: Triffids (The). Love Of Will. The Lord Burns Every Clue.

He has no signature
He grants no wish to me or you
He admits no evidence
He burns every clue

Some say the can name him
Some even lay a claim to him
No date of birth, no sense of place
The sun's black rag wipes out his name

We look for signals in the sky
We teach our children rhymes and hymns
We bend our knees and pray each night
And curse ourselves for doubting him

But he leaves no mark on us
We know not where he leads us to
No curling whisp of smoke
No twig broke underfoot
No shred of note that bears his shaky crawl
He leaves no trace at all
We know not where he leads us to
The Lord burns every clue