| St. John got gunned down with a cold ‘38 | |
| Why don't we pin him to the sky | |
| The rarest of the specimens are neatly locked away | |
| It's all in my collection | |
| It's all in my collection | |
| You know that bird has flown | |
| Can you forgive? | |
| A bird you'll never own | |
| And your love is a graveyard where the grasses grow low | |
| And the people that lie here knew just what you know | |
| Now your shovel's a shot glass and you drink your own toast | |
| You're living your life as a ghost, a ghost, a ghost | |
| See your love is a playground where the grasses grow low | |
| All the people that play here reap just what they sow | |
| And if your shovel is a shot glass and you drink your own toast | |
| You're living your life as a ghost, a ghost, a ghost | |
| When your will is gone and dreams will erase | |
| When you're hanging on by your fingernails | |
| When your will is gone and dreams will erase | |
| While you're hanging on by your fingernails | |
| Bring out your finest wines your holy shrines and let them go | |
| Freed from the chains of what has remained of a life that you don't want to know | |
| The bass and the drums will hammer it home with their marching band of the proud | |
| Celebrate ages, all life stages, seas and the winds and the clouds | |
| The message's been written from your prison, see what tomorrow will be | |
| See what tomorrow will be | |
| See what tomorrow will be | |
| Got every reason to believe that all must decide to break free | |
| Was it a tantrum when you said that all the laughs were on me | |
| Then I'll know my bet will win when the saints go marching in | |
| Then I'll know my bet will win when the saints go marching in | |
| Go marching in |
| St. John got gunned down with a cold ' 38 | |
| Why don' t we pin him to the sky | |
| The rarest of the specimens are neatly locked away | |
| It' s all in my collection | |
| It' s all in my collection | |
| You know that bird has flown | |
| Can you forgive? | |
| A bird you' ll never own | |
| And your love is a graveyard where the grasses grow low | |
| And the people that lie here knew just what you know | |
| Now your shovel' s a shot glass and you drink your own toast | |
| You' re living your life as a ghost, a ghost, a ghost | |
| See your love is a playground where the grasses grow low | |
| All the people that play here reap just what they sow | |
| And if your shovel is a shot glass and you drink your own toast | |
| You' re living your life as a ghost, a ghost, a ghost | |
| When your will is gone and dreams will erase | |
| When you' re hanging on by your fingernails | |
| When your will is gone and dreams will erase | |
| While you' re hanging on by your fingernails | |
| Bring out your finest wines your holy shrines and let them go | |
| Freed from the chains of what has remained of a life that you don' t want to know | |
| The bass and the drums will hammer it home with their marching band of the proud | |
| Celebrate ages, all life stages, seas and the winds and the clouds | |
| The message' s been written from your prison, see what tomorrow will be | |
| See what tomorrow will be | |
| See what tomorrow will be | |
| Got every reason to believe that all must decide to break free | |
| Was it a tantrum when you said that all the laughs were on me | |
| Then I' ll know my bet will win when the saints go marching in | |
| Then I' ll know my bet will win when the saints go marching in | |
| Go marching in |
| St. John got gunned down with a cold ' 38 | |
| Why don' t we pin him to the sky | |
| The rarest of the specimens are neatly locked away | |
| It' s all in my collection | |
| It' s all in my collection | |
| You know that bird has flown | |
| Can you forgive? | |
| A bird you' ll never own | |
| And your love is a graveyard where the grasses grow low | |
| And the people that lie here knew just what you know | |
| Now your shovel' s a shot glass and you drink your own toast | |
| You' re living your life as a ghost, a ghost, a ghost | |
| See your love is a playground where the grasses grow low | |
| All the people that play here reap just what they sow | |
| And if your shovel is a shot glass and you drink your own toast | |
| You' re living your life as a ghost, a ghost, a ghost | |
| When your will is gone and dreams will erase | |
| When you' re hanging on by your fingernails | |
| When your will is gone and dreams will erase | |
| While you' re hanging on by your fingernails | |
| Bring out your finest wines your holy shrines and let them go | |
| Freed from the chains of what has remained of a life that you don' t want to know | |
| The bass and the drums will hammer it home with their marching band of the proud | |
| Celebrate ages, all life stages, seas and the winds and the clouds | |
| The message' s been written from your prison, see what tomorrow will be | |
| See what tomorrow will be | |
| See what tomorrow will be | |
| Got every reason to believe that all must decide to break free | |
| Was it a tantrum when you said that all the laughs were on me | |
| Then I' ll know my bet will win when the saints go marching in | |
| Then I' ll know my bet will win when the saints go marching in | |
| Go marching in |
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