Tombo’s Wound The Number Twelve Looks Like You

Fingers crossed
Crossed
Crossed
Crossed

I hope it pours today
I cross my fingers
In a superstitious way, hay, hay, hay

We reel to the rain dance
Between shades of green
God give them a chance
For a quench that is clean

Seas erase from the sands
They're left to swallow disease
From puddles in the land

They're left to swallow
They're left to swallow disease
From puddles in the land

Nothing left to squeeze
I'll tell a million lies
To make the Gods cry
To shower this village
From no more goodbyes