| I remember how the wood would smell
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| Just as the last great tree was felled
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| Like many that came before
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| It was used for table and a door
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| A palette and a long hall rack
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| Hung my great grandfather’s hat
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| A stable and a barn, a bed and a seat
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| A roof and fence and a floor that creaked
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| And a coffin leanin against the wall
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| When there was a death in Arkansas
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| I liked the wagons and the wheels
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| The wind that knocked us down in the fields
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| And the girls with the southern drawl
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| And those that came before were the pictures on the wall
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| And the lone dogs howled and the crows would caw
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| When there was a death in Arkansas
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| We were laid to rest out under the sun
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| And we breathed our last
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| And it was done
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| And the air redeemed us and we would learn
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| That a life was hallowed and we wouldn’t burn
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| Hands folded gently to say goodbye
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| It was just this place underneath the sky
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| Do you see our bones hidin like a toad
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| In the old red dirt that is now a road
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| Beneath the sign that blinks off on
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| And a shopping mall where the house is gone
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| Forgetting that a soul may call
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| When there is a death in Arkansas
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| And a quilten patch of new concrete
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| Helps the trucks roll down the street
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| There’s a Dollar Store by the setting sun
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| And a sign on the church says His Will is Done
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| I can’t see the birds or find the fields
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| That hold my bones beneath the wheels
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| And a mother worries that her son won’t call
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| And a tv stares at a blinking wall
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| But the lone dogs howl and the crows still call
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| When there is a death in Arkansas |