Swing Low, Ex Patriat

To get back to the middle is a long and winding road
When your hallowed grounds have all been trampled down.
And the trees you used to climb were set aside for a freeway lined
With hands and signs that reach across to take the toll
Roll that road, roll it home,
To find the fields have all gone grey and the river’s running low.
You might wear a thousand sweaters but you’re still gonna feel the cold.
Now it’s midnight down on Main
Where our Lady of the Rain is Praying for a stay of ex-communication.
Singing please don’t forsake me yet.
Swing low, ex patriat.
There’s a great sleep in my breast that waits for you.
Roll that road, roll it home,
To find the fields have all gone grey and the river’s running low.
A thousand jewels around your neck only makes your head hang low.
Roll that road, roll it home,
To find the fields have all gone grey and the river’s running low.
You might wear a thousand sweaters but you’re still gonna feel the cold.