A Thin Place

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Ben Davis

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There's a house upon a hillside
It over looks the southern sound
Tahoma fills the window
When the rains aren't coming down
A storm blows off the water
And she rides in on the wind
To gaze upon the crowd who gather in her name
Looking thru the thick walls of a Thin Place

This old house is built from timbers
By skilled Norwegian hands
When the mills all went idle
Hard time hit the land
Every plank of split clear cedar
Every peg in chiseled beam
Has the hand print of an artist
Long gone without a trace
Let raise a toast to the ghosts who built this Thin Place

A Thin Place can be a mountain alter
Where a father's bones now rest
Under icy stars at midnight
Should we ask for any less?
The kind of place the mind can roam
Free to contemplate
Something far beyond this world of woe
Something bigger than one's self
In the stillness in the grace of a Thin Place

From the hustle for a dollar
To the family demands
In the fast lane of life's travels
We all could use a helping hand
By the quiet of still waters
We can put away our fears
And let the walls of time split open
If we listen with our ears
To the songs ringing out from a Thin Place

And on a dark and silent morning
Orion standing in the sky
His swords cuts thru the pain of a stubborn heart
And in the quiet of the stillness just his ears alone to ring
He thought he heard the voice of an angle sing

La la la la...

On a lichen covered stone
On a rise above the herd
Sits the name of a man who keeps company with a bird
At times I can hear his laugh
Carried by the western wind
But if only I believed I might walk with him again
But that's a hard leap of faith for me in a Thin Place

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