There are ghosts out in the rain tonight
High up in those ancient trees
Lord, I've given up without a fight
Another blind fool on his knees
And all the gods that I'd abandoned here
Begin to speak in simple tongues
Lord, suddenly I've come to know
There are no roads left to run.
Now it's the hour of dogs a barkin'
That's what the old ones used to say
It's first light or it's sundown
Before the children cease their play
And when the mountains glow like mission wine
And turn grey like a Spanish roan
Ten thousand eyes will stop to worship
Then turn away and head on home
And she is reaching out her arms tonight
And, yes, my poverty is real
I pray roses shall rain down again
From Guadalupe on her hill
And who am I to doubt these mysteries
Cured in centuries of blood and candle smoke
I am the least of all your pilgrims here
But I am most in need of hope.
She appeared to Juan Diego
And she left her image on his cape
Five hundred years of sorrow
Have not destroyed their deepest faith
But here I am your ragged disbeliever
Old doubting Thomas drowns in tears
As I've watched your church sink through the earth
Like a heart borne down through fear.
And she is reaching out her arms tonight
And, yes, my poverty is real
I pray roses shall rain down again
From Guadalupe on her hill
And who am I to doubt these mysteries
Cured in centuries of blood and candle smoke
I am the least of all your pilgrims here
But I am most in need of hope.
I am the least of all your pilgrims here
But I am most in need of hope.
