The Rifle

Oh I’ve been knocking on that door in my sleep
Fight my fireplace glow
I’ve been knocking on that door in my sleep
Fight my fireplace glow to keep me away,
To keep me away from home
Papa gets the rifle from its place above the French doors
They’re coming from the woods
Oh they’re coming from the woods
And mama you’re running too
Oh my mama you’re running too
Mama you’re running too
Oh my mama you’re running too
Brother I’m so sorry that you watched the Patens burn
And I’ve been holding onto the gold
When letting go would free my hands
And I’ve been tying your tongue in a knot
Oh I’ve been tying your tongue in a knot
To wrap this death, to wrap this death in a sheet
And Papa gets the rifle from its place above the French doors
They’re coming from the woods
Oh they’re coming from the woods
And mama you’re running too
Oh, my mama you’re running too
Mama you’re running too
Oh, my mama you’re running too
Brother I’m so sorry that you watched the Patens burn
I can’t hide the dirty pads down there carpet anymore
No, no I can’t hide the dirty pads down there carpet anymore
There were too many heavy boots
There were too many heavy boots
There were too many heavy boots
And there were too many big black boots
And there were too many little brown shoes marching though
So I’m counting it to the sky
Oh I’m counting it to the sky
I’m counting it to the sky
Oh I’m counting it to the sky
And moving back
Oh I’m moving back to Face the lack of home