A rifle sits behind your sleeping ear.
Echo on the cold wall,
closest neighbour couldn't hear.
We'd dug a hole in the fall,
so now it's a frozen burial.
And she's gone,
just before the new year.
Well, I'm gonna build a cross for a spot between the trees
and stick it in firm so it won't sway in their breeze.
Well, you and I have trouble makin' up our half-assed minds,
but she'd seen sixteen years of our kind.
What's it like when your memories start to freeze?
Oh, and I wonder
what it is about dogs and thunder,
what they hear
comin' over the field.
Back hall shelter, warm nights in summer,
shakin' the ground that you lie under.
Well, I know you're not here,
but at least you don't feel it anymore.
And I came to see you
on the day that it happened.
You said:
