This song owes much to the poet Rumi, specifically "Dervish at the Door." As well as the book of Lamentations. -Jordan
All the windows have been closed.
The blinds have been drawn shut.
My eyes have both adjusted to the lack of light
That's in this house.
This is no bakery, so don't ask me for bread.
This is no boarding house, so don't ask for a place to rest your head.
There is no well here, so don't ask for a drink.
If you were on the street,
Back where you should be
I would be at peace.
Oh Jesus, we are such a wicked lot.
See the dirt that still there lingers
On the sweating face I've got.
Lead us like strangers down to the grass
Where we'll lay our bodies down into the path
Of all the busy working ants.
Beside the waters that still there flow
As long ago.
Lead on, we rise and pour out our hearts
Like water before your throne.
Our skin has grown old
Our bones are broken.
The path lies hidden by blocks of stone.
So come now to this once great city
As she herself groans and turns away.
Is any suffering like this affliction?
The cries are many but the heart is faint.
But I know what is my portion
And so I will wait for you.
from It Can Kill,
released May 29, 2012
Jordan Banks - Electric Guitar, Noise, Vocals
Duane Chew - Electric Guitar
Adam Jahn - Bass Guitar, Vibes
Tory Kirgiss - Drums, Vocals