Fog dangling thick Can't see the right road Streets are sick, The eight day mill It might grind slow, but it grinds fine Indian rope man, while lookin' on Tells common clay he's heavenly born Retired layman looks on in scorn, With a transplanted heart Kiss him quick, he has to part. Yeah...yeah Indian rope man sees the times, Splitting loose the edge of minds Catching losers in his line, in his line, yeah Kiss him quick, he has to part. Yeah...yeah Indian rope man flexes his eye, Dissolving the fog Revealing the lie Indian rope man holds my trick in his heart, yeah Kiss him quick, he has to part Yeah... yeah Indian rope man sees all strife Cutting down eternal life When his soul transcends his heart, oh Kiss him quick, he has to part. Yeah... yeah