Like a kettle in the dark I heard him playing in the parkWhere the tender magnolias made neon and growWasn't playing for a crowd And he was not playing loudAnd I kept on walking homeBut it sure felt like a vision When he closed his eyes to seeGave me some kind of religion But there's no name for the thingIn the room Don't they blush like a womanThe first time you saw her And your love has many colorsSome do shine and some are duller There's no rush to paint them allCause it sure feels like a vision If you close your eyes to seeAnd it's some kind of religion But there's no name for the thingI'm waiting for a trainThat no railroad can contain I am building a station up mortar and soThough I don't know where it goes It ain't for me to supposeFor it takes an order to recall It just keeps me on a visionOf a whistle's golden ring And it's some kind of religionBut there's no name for the thing And it's some kind of religionBut there's no name for the thing