| Wendell Walker was a friend of mine
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| We’d stain our teeth in the summertime
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| And with lips of purple, the winter would roll
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| Past the boarded windows into our souls
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| And shake our weary bones
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| Now this past winter was the coldest in years
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| It’s hard to explain if you’ve never lived here
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| But it locks your doors and starts your mind
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| Thinking in circles just to pass the time
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| And breaks your weary heart
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| Now Wendell Walker was a man of God
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| But he didn’t care much for his sober mind
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| And when the cold mixed in he was turned around
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| Heard the voice of God and the angels sound
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| A message just for him:
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| «My son, my son, she is the devil’s child
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| Won’t you save her while you can
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| Cut down the other man»
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| Now Wendell Walker was a friend of mine
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| But he married too young in the summertime
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| Their hearts weren’t ripe so they fell apart
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| And I found myself with a joyful heart
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| As our secret lives began
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| We found our moments in between the hours
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| When Wendell Walker drove his car to town
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| But one day he found a letter that I wrote for her
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| On the top of her dresser and in his winter mind
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| He heard the voice of God say:
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| «My son, my son, she is the devil’s child
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| Won’t you save her while you can
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| Cut down the other man»
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| With the voice of the lord ringing in his ears
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| And the note to his wife that confirmed his fears
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| He sat down on the edge of the bed
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| Read the letter again to see who’d sent it
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| But it was signed 'forever yours'
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| He stood up slow like he’d just been hit
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| Walked into the kitchen where his wife was sitting
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| He said, «my mother called on the telephone
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| She says she needs some help so I’ll be back in the morning»
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| And he grabbed his heavy coat
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| My phone rang while I was watching the news
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| She said the house was ours to cure these winter blues
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| So I made my way, and we turned the blinds
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| And Wendell walked in just in time
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| To see our secret die and say:
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| «My son, my son I’m gonna have to cut you down»
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| He pointed his rifle to my eyes
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| But his hesitating hands
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| Were shaking from the cold
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| So I pushed his gun away
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| Just as he found his strength
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| And the bullet kissed her lips
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| And I cried:
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| «My god, my god what have I done?»
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| And he reloaded his gun
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| And he put it in his mouth
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| And I stood in the room that I’d created |