Score From Augusta

And armies wait in their secret places
That gently twist around your bed
The South will be spared
Bullets flying fast from her eyes
With Confederate fire
Ah, ah
We etch our names in candles, they’re heart-shaped and they flicker inside our
chests (in our chests)
And ghosts of our brethren speak tales which are hidden, much like ours (much
like ours)
Of brothers fighting, of holy fields
Where their new loves come and their old loves go
And they just wilt
Like Spanish moss with dew in their eyes
Tears for our Lord
And for the ones he spares
When they’ve lost their way it’s o-o-off with their heads
And the whores he loves
And the lepers he claims that he can cure
Can not compete
With those humid summer days that we would share