On Saturday night, November 11, 2017, at 6.30pm, free-lance writer Isaiah Johnson interviewed Eddie Jax at the Judson Memorial Church in Greenwich Village and provided Rolling Stone Magazine with the following story.

Eddie Jax Performs in Greenwich Village this Week
Staff writer – The Villager
Wed November 8, 2017

Greenwich Village – In celebration of 40 years of Freedom Come, Eddie Jax will perform two live shows at the Webster Hall in Greenwich Village on November 9th and 10th, and third show in Washington Square Park on Saturday, November 11, 2017.
The concerts will feature Eddie Jax on vocals, accompanied by a band of renowned performers including Eric Clapton, John Mellencamp, Gordon Sumner, and Jason John Bonham. The Greenwich Village concert sites are within walking distances of Columbia Recording Studio A and the location of the famous cover photo taken for “The Freedom Come” Eddie Jax album.
It seems like only yesterday, though it will be 40 years, since the release of Eddie Jax’s breakthrough album Freedom Come. Recorded in New York City at Columbia Record’s Studio A and released on November 11, 1977, Freedom Come was the American singer-songwriter Eddie Jax’s second studio album and represents the beginning of his Rock n’ Roll career. Eleven of the songs on the album are written by Jax.
Mr. Jax will be celebrating the release of Freedom Come and his 57th birthday on the evening of Saturday, November 11th in what is rumored to be the final performance of his career. Members of the Greenwich Village Secret Garden will be honoring Mr. Jax with a dinner and celebration under the stars in the garden Saturday evening after the performance.

That was the story that appeared in The Villager November 8, 2017. My name is Isaiah Johnson, and I am the free-lance writer who interviewed Eddie Jax the evening of Saturday, November 11, 2017, the night of his final performance. And this is his story.

ONE

I had heard the rumors for weeks, but now it was here. Saturday evening, backstage, and a chance to interview Eddie Jax the night of what might be the final performance of his career. I laughed at myself as I waited for him to arrive because I had heard the rumors too: “Elvis has left the building, Paul is dead, and now Eddie Jax.” I knew about his motorcycle accident back in 79 and all the controversy, but I couldn’t believe it was true about the transformation; yet something made me wonder if tonight, of all nights, Jax might just somehow-someway suddenly disappear. Then there he was, Eddie Jax, and he waved me to come over somehow knowing who I was.

“There must be some way out of here, said the joker to the thief,” said Jax.

“You said that you quit stealin’ bread; for me to write it all down, like a witness?”  I said.

“That’s right. [smiling] If I’m the joker, then you’re the thief. Destiny is calling. The picture you have in your own mind of what it’s all about is going to come true, and you won’t be able to keep it all inside,” said Jax.

“You said to write it all down, like a witness?” I asked.

“Yes, write it down, everything. Because destiny is calling for me tonight,” said Jax.

“What do you mean by destiny?” I asked.

Destiny is the feeling you have when you know something about yourself that nobody else knows. It’s a feeling, like Déjà vu, but more like a picture you have in your own mind of who you are and what it’s all about, and that it’s coming true. But it’s the kind of a thing that you have to keep to yourself because it’s a fragile feeling; it’s a feeling, that if you put it out there for people to see and don’t keep it to yourself, then someone will kill it. So, it’s best to keep it all inside until the right time.

“There’s too much confusion I can’t get no relief…” he said.

“Do you have that feeling now Mr. Jax? Are you thinking of the concert tonight?”

“Destiny, the feeling, yes, I have it. I get that feeling every time I’m here in Washington Square Park. I had it in 77’, then again in 79’, and now I have that same feeling again. I’ve been on the road for most of my life. I get worn down, and I’m feeling a lot of things…it’s getting so hard to keep going. But let’s get away from all the people. There’s a place over there, [points to a church] a place I want to show you on the other side of Washington Square.”

I had a sense this was the real thing, the real deal, that he was going to tell me something absolutely remarkable. “But what about the concert? It’s supposed to start in less than an hour?”

“There’s a place I want to show you first, and some things I want to tell you. Some things I need to say,”

Jax started walking through the park towards the Judson Memorial Church, and I followed. As we walked, I thought about how Jax was possibly the most influential music icon of his time. But being near him, there was something else, an enigma, the sense of genius reflected in his poetry and music.

“Is this a charity concert tonight Mr. Jax?”

“I’ve supported many causes in my time (looking serious), but I started looking inward in 1977, and since then I’ve never looked back. Everyone gets around to playing my songs eventually. They make lots of money off what they don’t understand. And in the eyes of the music business, I’m just a guitar player who wrote over thousand songs. Back then, when I first became a name, I was playing “I’d Love to Change the World,” and I was in demand. Then it all became just way too much, and I retreated to Burlington, Vermont; then the summer of 1979 happened. When I came back, they said I wasn’t the same, that I was different. They wanted the old Eddie Jax back, and all those people, you know, the businessmen and generation of the blind, they buried Eddie Jax in Greenwich Village in 1979.”

“Jimi Hendrix was right, businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth, and none of them along the line know what any of it is worth,” he said.

“Why did you retreat to Burlington back then?” I asked.

“I had my reasons for getting out of the spotlight. I’d gotten married and wanted to spend time with my family, and I needed time to recover from being on the road. And then when I had my motorcycle accident in June of 79’ I needed time to understand what had happened.”

“What do you mean, to understand what had happened?”

“I didn’t know who I was before that motorcycle crash. That changed me, people saw me as a revolutionary up until that accident and my retreat to Burlington. But afterward, with the music I made, ‘A Momentary Space in Time’ and ‘Blood on the Wheels,’ people were bewildered by my transformation. They thought I looked different, sounded different, and my music, and words were different. They wanted to know what had happened to me, but those were things that couldn’t be known by anyone. Those people were searching for something they can’t understand. It was sad. It really was. May the Lord have mercy on the lost souls. They really don’t know what they don’t know.”

“I want to know more about what happened back then,” I said.

“There’s no reason to get excited,” Jax calmly spoke. “It took years before I could talk about it. It’s taken many more to be ready for tonight. I’m not the same person I once was.”

“Mr. Jax, I want to know what happened so that I can understand,” I said.

“It was happening gradually at first, a gradual kind of slipping away. But then the accident, if you want to call it an accident, came out nowhere and changed everything in an instant. It all made perfect sense to me later because the truth is there without beginning or end. But you know, some things begin, are here for a while, and then they end; and they have a borderline that divides things. Well, I realized those boundaries in this world don’t really exist, any more than when night evaporates into the light of day. You know, Isaiah, there are so many here among us who act as if life is but a joke.”

“That’s when I wrote ‘Blood on the Wheels,’” he said, “that’s when I wrote ‘Isis Blown Away’… the one song I never published,” and then he stared off into the distance:

The clapboard paint peeled blood orange,
            like skin cracks that flake ugly brown
under a ladder against the wall
            where empty paint cans spilled on the ground

 It was noon when he rolled down that road
            And got off his HD iron black
And put on his sunglasses to hide his eyes
            From the sun as he walked round the back

 Then gazing through windows into darkness
            The place reeked of ether and death
He heard the voice of a woman
            Saying “do I know you?” under her breath

 Going in slowly to delay as long as he could
            He reached for his M9 just to make sure
And when the thud of his boot hit the step
            His fear he could hardly endure

 There was a long quiet, then he took one more step
            to look through, to break through
And his knock met the shuffle of bare feet
            It was the sound of the Isis he knew

 Was it her, had she changed in the years,
            could she be what they said?
His gut turning to knots, he drew a deep breath
            Wishing that his Isis was dead

 She looked from the shadows down the hallway
            And he saw the bitter, broken lines of her face
She reached for the straps hanging from her shoulders
            And put her tattered dress back into place

 She stepped forward into the sun and he saw her
            the pale of her once sun darkened skin
And in the tangled blue of her brown hair
            He knew it was Isis that he saw again

 “She’s not home,” was her reply, and then it was there
            The voice he hadn’t heard in so long
“Go away, Isis don’t live here no more,” she said
            And then it all began to go so wrong

 As her shape moved back into the shadows
            And her eyes gazed through the door
He recognized the lines of her face through the veil
            Filled with pain that he’d never seen before

 Her hair dark brown was streaks of gray
            She looked cold to the touch
Her shoulders fell as she moved
            With looks not saying too much

 Then at last she broke the silence
            “What do you want?” she said
Afraid and hiding her eyes in her disguise
            “You lookin’ for Isis? Isis is dead.”

 The sound of her voice told him
            she hadn’t known it was him until then
He could have walked away in that moment
            And never saw her again

 But he looked and she was trembling
            Away from the sunlight she stepped
God, for a second, it was her
            Under the tears that she wept

 And it all disappeared and fell away then
            The years dreaming of her face
Gone in a few seconds of knowing
            She betrayed everything in that place

 And those years hit Isis at that moment too
|           as she looked at him crying and said
“Honey don’t look for me no more
            The Isis you once knew is dead.”

 Then the shadow of her disappeared
            Deep into that shack in the back
The color of her skin pale in the shadows
            And her eyes fading blue to black

 He felt the strength of his heart pounding
            Felt the blood rush in and out
Her eyes were blue, but it wasn’t her anymore
            “Isis is dead” he heard the crying voice shout

 Then closing the door she whispered
            Soft like from so long ago
“Isis don’t live here no more…
            Please honey try to forget”

We walked silently through the crowd towards the church on the other side of the park, when I finally said, “The crowd is already here. It’s going to be a great show; there will be some great artists playing with you.”

“Yeah, Clapton, Mellencamp, Sumner, and Bonham, but you won’t see Paul McCartney…” he said smiling.

“Paul couldn’t make it?”

Laughing, he said still smiling, “Paul is dead, haven’t you heard? It’s no joke. He died in 69 …just like Dr. Dynamite, they said he was dead too, and Mellencamp. But Morrison will be here, and Jimi when we play ‘All Along the Watchtower.’”

TWO

“What do you think happened to Paul?”

“What happened to him and all the rest will be a revelation. But we really don’t know much about the Judgment Day that’s coming. Once you’re gone, there’s no coming back to tell about it. There are only ideas because of what we’ve been taught. But then there’s the feeling of it all that comes to us and we kind of know. We get a glimpse, a momentary glimpse and that’s enough to know things are a certain way, that we do things and things happen, and things are going to go a certain way. But you and I, we’ve seen that, and we know it’s our fate.”

“You said destiny is calling. Is that like fate?”

“Things aren’t inevitable or unavoidable. Everything isn’t just predetermined, but there is a divine providence out there for those who reach out with a sense of destination for where they’re going. It’s a flow, and things happen when you begin to reach out to get it, but only a few ever do.”

“And what about those who don’t reach out, what is their destiny like?”

“For those who don’t, they don’t become what they could become. There’s no transformation for them; it never happens. But people like you and me made the right choice long ago. You’re here now, you reached out, and tonight you’ll see how destiny is ours to make.”

“And now,” he said looking up at the Judson Memorial Church watchtower, “the hour is getting late.”

It was less than an hour before Jax’s last show. The wind blew with a chill as we felt the sun set behind the Washington Square Park. We stood atop the church watchtower and watched the crowd gathering in the park. Jax was wearing a black leather jacket over a thin white T-shirt. He gazed out over the crowd as if in deep concentration. I could feel him patiently waiting for me to ask him about the watchtower, about the concert, about who he was. I did ask, and he opened up and told me without reservation.

“This tower, it’s a special place; is it part of why you asked me with you?”

“I’m trying to tell you something,” said Jax, “I’m trying to explain something that can’t be explained. Help me out Isaiah. Listen to what I’m trying to tell you. You might be interested in hearing. What I tell you might take you someplace, and you might want to ask me different questions and reach out to find new ones. You see, I went to the White House once, I played ‘I’d Love to Change the World’ for Barrack, but he didn’t have any answers. So, I disguised myself as one of his aides on official business and got into the Smithsonian archives. I found some answers there, but it was all so mystical and hard for anyone to understand. Let me show you this.”

He walked to the tower railing and stood looking out over the crowd, and said, “come stand here, right here with me. I think this might interest you.”

Then he pulled out a small weathered leather-bound book from his pocket. “See this book? You know what it is? You know where I got it? You know where it came from?

“Yeah, I think so.”

“It’s a very special book.”

“You found it at the archives?”

“Look at the age of this book,” he said, and then showed me the old leather, the papyrus, and Coptic words that seemed to be a list of names.

“Does this name ring a bell? Does it look familiar? Does it? Do you wonder what this has to do with you and me? The name does look familiar, doesn’t it? And it’s over two-thousand years old. Ten thousand isn’t enough? Right?

Jax stared at me, gazing into me, smiling. “Look at this page here. Read it out loud. Read it out loud into the wind.”

THREE

I read the words: “Like whirlwinds sweeping through the land, a vision has been shown to me: I am staggered by what I hear, I am bewildered by what I see. My heart trembles; the light I longed for has come to me. They set the tables, they spread the rugs, they eat, they drink!… This is what the Lord said to me: Go, post a lookout and have him report what he sees. And have him give the answer of all he has heard and all he has seen.”

Then Jax began to speak: “It all began on my way home from a mountain ride in 1979. It was a howling storm, and the road was wet because it was raining so hard. I lost control of my Harley when I heard something growling beside the road. They said I was dead when they found me. And all I can remember is a woman crying, ‘Poor Eddie,’ as they drug my lifeless body to the side of the road. ‘Poor Eddie.’ Yeah, poor Eddie…but I wasn’t dead. Something had happened to me. You know what it’s called?”

“A near-death experience?”

“A new-life-experience. A transcendence. You’ve heard of it happening right? Well, you’re looking at somebody that it’s happened to.”

“That . . . that you were transformed in some way?”

“Look at me. Touch me. Feel me. Here me. Am I like you? I’m not like I once was, or who I once was. I’m not like too many others in this world. I’m only like another person who has come back to walk-on ahead.”

“A near death experience is not what I’m talking about. This is something else. It’s more like a transformation but different; it’s a disintegration of who I once was and the becoming of who I really am. I had that motorcycle accident in 79.1 already explained that to you, right? Now, you can put the pieces of what happened together any way you want. You can work out in your mind any way you want. You can go learn about near-death experiences and transcendence just like I did, or you can learn about it in an ancient forgotten book like the one that I found, but it’s something beyond the physical, beyond any words to describe. It has happened to people from the beginning, but only just a few, and nobody knows who it happened to, or why. But if you have eyes to see, you’ll see the truth of it here and there. It’s not something like you see in a dream or a vision, or with analytical thought. It’s not a magical way of conjuring up a new reality, and it’s not reincarnation; it has nothing to do with the past or the future as we understand it. So, when people think of me as the person I was back then, they’re thinking of someone else, they’re thinking of the person I was over forty years ago. They’re thinking of a person that didn’t exist after 1979. But people mistake me for who I once was all the time. But when it happened, it was as if I crawled out from under the stones of nothingness and rose above it. That’s the reason I changed, it’s the reason I didn’t run out of inspiration, and it’s the reason I can still do what I do and write and perform if I want to. It’s the reason I see things for what they really are.”

“When you say a person who no longer exists, do you mean the Eddie Jax who died in a motorcycle crash?”

“I am Eddie Jax! You’re here with me now. You’re talking to me.”

“Then the kind of transformation you’re telling me about is…”

“It is whatever it is. I couldn’t go back and find the old Eddie Jax in a million years. Neither can you or anybody else on the face of this Earth. The old Eddie Jax is gone. But if I could, I would go back and put my arms around him and thank him. I’d tell him that he is always with me, that he belongs to me. But I can’t. He’s gone. He doesn’t exist.”

“OK, so when you speak of transformation . . .”

“I speak of transcendence, and I only know what I told you. I don’t know how it all happens.”

“I’m trying to understand who you were and who you are now.”

“I just showed you who I am. It’s in the book.”

“That’s what you mean? You’re like the person in the book?”

“I don’t mean that. I didn’t write what’s written in the book. I didn’t make it up. I didn’t dream that I’m Lazarus or some monk in a monastery. I’m not telling you that it came to me in some kind of prophetic dream. You know the song, ‘Rocky’s Gotta Gun?’ The old Eddie Jax wrote that, not the new one.”

“I’m showing you a book that was written thousands of years ago. I mean, look at it all and connect the dots: the words, the motorcycle crash, and there’s so much more to all of it than there’s time to explain. If you search to find out, you’ll find a whole lot more is connected in this world. I’m just explaining what happened to me, and what is going to happen. Go to that road in Vermont where I crashed my bike… it’s hard to find, but maybe you can find it. There’s a marker there, look at it, and maybe then you can understand.”

“When did you decide to look for answers?”

“When did I decide to look for answers? You know, the answers were there all along. I’d met McCartney in the late Seventies, but didn’t know him very well. It was back in his ‘Wings Over America’ days, and one mind-blowing night we talked about Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, Divine Providence, and God’s intervention in the world. It was sort of like an appeal to the mystery, and I realized I was different, and the change began to happen, a spiritual change. I started to write about it, and I thought I was writing about somebody else, but then I got to my lines in certain songs and I realized it wasn’t me writing at all. I didn’t even really wonder where the words came from until later, and then it all blew my mind. About a year later, I went searching for answers and found some old books about religious stuff, but the answers were in a mystical realm that I could hardly understand, but I knew enough to know what it was all about. And it set me straight as to who I was and what set me apart. I’d always known that I was different than other people, and what I found told me why. And I understood that some people are set apart. I mean I could begin to see it all, and I started thinking more and more about it. I had to find out for sure because I was led to it. Because I was born to it.”

“Why did you have that need to find out for sure?”

“Because that’s the nature of our existence. We’re not here for very long. Seasons come and go, and flowers bloom and die. People are born every day. It goes on and on and never stops, and ‘all along the watchtower the prince keeps the view.’”

FOUR

I wasn’t sure what to say… “The crowd is getting big over in the square. Will the words in your music go on and on Mr. Jax?”

“Everybody has a song. Some have a sweet song, some barely a muffled drumbeat. And everybody is called, but few can hear, maybe one in ten-thousand. Look at the crowd that gathers… Most of them will never know the real person that is inside them, within and without. Most of them never will know.”

“Please tell me about your song Mr. Jax.”

“Mine? Not any different than anybody else’s. Some people sing the song of a mathematician, some sing song of carpenter’s wife, and some will never hear a song in their life. You have to listen to the sound of whatever you’re called to do. You have to be who you really are, whether anybody tells you or not. And somewhere inside of you, you have to believe in it.”

“Some of us have heard your songs and thought you are a witness to the world.”

“It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? How people in the world come and go. Some burn out in an instant, some fade away slow, and some just disappear, and you never know where they go. What we think we know can change. Some things we’ve been told are not so at all, and some things that we weren’t told might actually be so. Most see things the way they really are not, or see them the way they want them to be. We can’t change the present; we can only change the past… Isaiah, you have to change your heart if you want to be free.”

“It’s getting dark Mr. Jax… You’ve known a lot of people in your life, have you known anyone else like you?”

“John, John Lennon, my brother Paul McCartney, Waters and Gilmour, and a few others…but I see others sometimes. They are like dancers that elevate up. They do things, and you see the way they move upward and fall down again; it is graceful to see. And when they fall down, they are not the same; they hesitate for a just moment as if they are strangers in the world. They can’t hide in that moment of hesitation. You might not notice them when they are up in the air, but the moment they touch down you can recognize them. Because in that same moment it looks as if they transform into something more sublime. Isis never understood… Nicky does.”

“I hear the roar of the crowd. Will it happen tonight Mr. Jax?”

“Oh, ye of little faith, just look and listen, just believe. Who’s to say that I am not doing it even now? God is within and without. He is in everything. Every person, place, and thing, in every situation. I mean, you have to believe in something. Don’t you? You might try having faith in the words I am saying. They might help you to see.”

“I hear you but I’m not sure I understand.”

“Well, I am going to show you. I’m going to show you and you will understand.”

“Have you ever told these things to anyone before Mr. Jax?”

“Yeah, but that was before, and this is now. I have enough faith for both you and me. Faith is good: remember what Jimi Hendrix said, ‘I stand up next to a mountain and I chop it down with the edge of my hand.’ But it’s not that blind faith that most people have, but the kind of faith that people like you and me have. You can tell when someone has faith in the way they believe, by the words that come out of their mouths. Real faith is what people need to have because words go out and create the world. When we have nothing else, it’s all we need. But most people don’t understand that. What they need is to have faith and believe.”

“I think sometimes people have it, and then they lose it.”

“Yeah, a hard rain falls, and it hits them all at once. And that hard rain hits and some have no chance at all; they’re beaten down before they start. But some get more than one chance. No two in heaven and earth are alike. You just need to push forward, just like in ‘Isis Blown Away.’ The only thing you need to do is to keep on keepin’ on.”

“After your motorcycle accident, is that when it all happened for you?”

“I’ve explained all that can be explained. Help me out here. Write down what I’ve said. Read the pages of the Book. Some people never become who they’re supposed to be. They take the bait. They go off in a direction they shouldn’t. Do you see all the people gathered down there in the park? They don’t know where they’re going, but I do.”

“Why are some people like that?”

“Why can’t they see? Why don’t they listen? Blind men don’t have a clue. If a blind man follows a blind man, both will fall in a hole.”

“Are you saying that most people will always be blind?”

“I can’t say because it’s all up to them. All the names haven’t been written down yet.”

“Can we help each other?”

“If we take responsibility for ourselves, then we can help others. But we have to know ourselves first. People listen to my songs, and they hear the words in a certain way, but there’s more to it than that. They should listen to my songs and hear the sound of their own songs too.”

“The band is starting to warm up. They’re playing a song off your first album.”

Mr. Jax hummed the words:

Rocky’s got a good gun
He’s lookin’ for his Nicky Fender
Cuz’ she’s so much fun

 He’s got a big cigar
Hangin’ out his mouth
Cuz’ he’s a big rock star

 He gonna’ play a little jam
Turn up Nicky loud
Hammer on her strings, hammer wham bam

Cuz’ every song Rocky play
Nicky cry and moan
When he play it that way

 And all those folk dudes with their fucked-up attitudes
Better run, better run cuz’ Rocky’s gotta’ hammer
And all those other dudes with their fucked-up attitudes
Better run cuz’ Rocky hammer Nicky for the glamor

 Now, Nicky loves to feel Rocky play
Loves him hammer down that way
And play her hard that way all day

 But Rocky gotta’ good surprise
He’s gonna’ play a little slide
Makin Nicky squeal the way she moans and cries

 Cuz’ Nicky’s waited such a long time
To feel the way that Rocky play
And make her cry and moan all day

 And all those folk singin’ blues with fucked up attitudes
Better run, better run cuz’ Rocky’s gotta hammer
And all those kinda’ dudes with their fucked-up attitudes
Better run cuz’ Rocky hammer Nicky for the glamor
Yes, he hammer for the glamor!

FIVE

“I see two men from your entourage coming this way.”

“That’s what I wish I couldn’t see: inside of people. There’s something inside people that makes them want to betray other people, and they want to be the one that does it. They want to be the one that delivers you up on the stage for the crowd. People have been that way almost from the beginning. See the crowd out there, they are the same people that called me Judas for playing a Fender not a Gibson guitar.”

“But surely, that’s all in the past now?”

“So, what’s different now? It’s gone on for too long. The Eddie Jax they think they know is gone now, and they’ll never find my grave. There’s an entire world of reporters and critics out there who think they know everything about me and the meaning of my every word. You know, I’ve given them all the lives I once had.”

“And inspiration too.”

“No, they must find that all on their own.”

“Your audience really loves you. I hear them clapping. They’re ready to hear you play.”

“They think they do. They think that they should. And they look at each other just to make sure.”

“Why do you say that Mr. Jax?”

“That’s the way most people are…no Love inside. When someone is willing to die for you, that’s real Love. And you never really know who has it until the moment arrives… the moment when someone is willing to die for you… ask the old Eddie.”

SIX

The two men of Eddie Jax’s entourage arrived and told Mr. Jax, it’s time to go. And Eddie Jax turned to me and said, “Isaiah, now’s the time to find out… Write it all down, everything.”

Then I heard the band warming up as I stood in the tower and watched Mr. Jax walk away. They were playing The Doors, “Riders On the Storm,” and John Cougar Mellencamp was growling out the words, “Into this house we’re born, into this world we’re thrown, like a dog without a bone, an actor out on loan, riders on the storm.” And the wind, it was howling as I watched Eddie Jax walk into the roaring crowd and disappear forever.

And then I opened the little weathered leather-bound book he gave to me before the show, and inside I found the words written in his hand:

Everywhere he looked fate reflected back
Seemed destiny had found him in its plan
His future was bright, everything on track
The wheels were turning; smooth the motor ran

 But fate pressed and the lights began to flash
Knew what was happening could not look down
Destiny was close; skies about to smash
Victory far upon the mountain’s crown

 Once Icarus fell when he flew too high
But the farmer still ploughed and turned his field
And a child died when he fell from the sky
And he cried, but the farmer would not yield

Look how high he was flying, how high he flew
Look how high he went then, higher than we knew

The End