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Look out, Mama, there's a white boat coming up the river, |
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with a big red beacon and a flag and a man on the rail |
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I think you'd better call John |
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'cause it don't look like they're here to deliver the mail |
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And it's less than a mile away |
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I hope they didn't come to stay |
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It's got numbers on the side and a gun, |
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and it's making big waves |
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Daddy's gone, my brother's out hunting in the mountains |
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Big John's been drinking since the river took Emmy Lou |
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So the powers that be left me here to do all the thinking |
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And I just turned twenty-two |
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I was wondering what to do |
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And the closer they got, |
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The more those feelings grew |
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Daddy's rifle in my hand felt reassuring |
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He told me, 'Red means run, Son, numbers add up to nothing' |
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But when that first shot hit the dock, I saw it coming |
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Raised the rifle to my eye |
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Never stopped to wonder why |
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Then I saw black and my face flash in the sky |
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Shelter me from the powder and the finger |
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Cover me with the thought that pulled the trigger |
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Just think of me as one you never figured, |
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to fade away so young |
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with so much left undone |
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Remember me to my love |
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I know I'll miss her |
