| He led you to this hiding place
|
| His lightening threats spun silver tongues
|
| The red bells beckon you to ride
|
| A handprint on the driver’s side
|
| It looks a lot like engine oil
|
| And tastes like being poor and small
|
| And popsicles in summer
|
| Deep red bells, deep as I have been done
|
| Deep red bells, deep as I have been done
|
| It always has to come this
|
| The red bells ring this tragic hour
|
| She lost sight of the overpass
|
| But daylight won’t remember that
|
| When speckled fronds raise round your bones
|
| Who took the time to fold your clothes
|
| And shook the Valley of the Shadow?
|
| Where does this mean world cast its cold eye?
|
| Who’s left to suffer long about you?
|
| Does your soul cast about like an old paper bag
|
| Past empty lots and early graves?
|
| All those like you who lost their way
|
| Murdered on the interstate
|
| While the red bells rang like thunder
|
| Deep red bells, deep as I have been done
|
| Deep red bells, deep as I have been done |