| Can I move to California and keep my head held high
|
| These bipolar East Coast forecasts leave me fried
|
| And I got lonesome there since the day she died
|
| I never been too good at saying long goodbyes
|
| So write me one good song and dry my sisters' eyes
|
| And bury me in Philly when I die
|
| Bury me
|
| Bury me, yeah
|
| If I delete all my profiles can I make you come
|
| A digital golden calf at first it seemed like fun
|
| But it gets lonesome there and I could use some sun
|
| All the clicks and likes feel like hit and runs
|
| I’m turning off my phone, I’m turning in my gun
|
| You can bury me in Philly when I’m done
|
| Bury me
|
| Bury me
|
| Give my '65 to Tim and dry my sisters' eyes
|
| And bury me in Philly when I die
|
| Let the ground beneath my feet
|
| Fail if it wants to now
|
| You’ve got dancing shoes
|
| I’ve got blues to lose and I want you to show me how
|
| I’m ready for it now
|
| I can show you that I love you if you’ll let me in
|
| I don’t need a savior if I don’t believe in sin
|
| But it gets lonesome here out on a limb
|
| I’m singing ragged songs and howling broken hymns
|
| So come on Golden State let me in
|
| They can bury me in Philly in the end
|
| In the end
|
| In the end
|
| Bury me
|
| Bury me, yeah
|
| Give my '65 to Tim and dry my sisters' eyes
|
| And bury me in Philly when I die
|
| Give my '65 to Tim and dry my sisters' eyes
|
| And bury me in Philly when I die |