there are ghosts out in the rain tonight high up in those ancient trees and i have given up without a fight another blind fool on his knees and all the gods that i ve abandoned begin to speak in simple tongue and suddenly i ve come to know that there are no roads left to run now it s the hour of dogs a barking that s what the old ones used to say it s first light or it s sundown before the children cease their play when the mountains glow like mission wine or turn gray like a spanish roan a thousand eyes will stop to worship then turn away and head for home 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 she left her image on his cape five hundred years of sorrow cannot destroy his deepest faith so here i am your ragged disbeliever old doubting thomas drowns in tears as i watch your church sink through the earth like a heart worn down through fear