Lyrics

Over the tracks down a dusty road, past wher them gravel trucks unload. Through the stonewall gates the grass grows green, where the living visit on bended knee.
We can dig them wide; we can dig them deep. Stack them double high, so lovers can sleep. Bury ashes in that shallow ground, or lower them caskets six feet down.

We place the concrete stones down at their feet. The epitaphs I sometimes read, I tred a little bit lighter over friends of mine, who checked out before their time.

Some fall headfirst into the deepest south. Others they rise up to the northern clouds. And those that get lost enroute, they reside in this ghost town.

I sing to the dead and they sing to me. Their mournful sounds take the low harmony. I lay some day in this hollow ground, but I won’t get stuck in this ghost town.

Some fall headfirst into the deepest south. Others they rise up to the northern clouds. And those that get lost route, they reside in this ghost town.