Soft the fist
The Spirits such a kind, kind friend
He comes to us in our darkest mares
And for a spell tarry’s there
To listen to the tormentor telling
Do you not remember his hitting
How his words were so hurting
And you turn to deflect the blow
Frantic with no place left to go
Then the Spirit tells the tormentor
Enough of your blows upon this soul
And breathes into the wounds healing
Deep, deeper while you are sleeping
And in the morning waking anew
A faint whisper comes to oppress
But somehow in the night to you
The terrible fist was turned to caress.
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