Who will write love songs for you when I am lowered at last And your body is a little highway shrine that all my priests will passed that all my priests have passed
My priests they will put flowers there They will kneel before the glass But they'll wear away your little window love They will trample on the grass They will trample on the grass
The simple life of heroes The twisted life of saints They just confuse the sunny calendar With their red and golden paint
And all of you have seen the dance that God has kept from me Tho he has seen me watching you when all your minds were free when all your minds were free
Who will write love songs for you when I am lowered at last And your body is a little highway shrine that all my priests have passed that all my priests have passed