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Call your boys, now that the table's set and shining |
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No one's seen any of them in many days |
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Call your boys, they shut a buzzard on a Chrysler |
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And you still taste all that you swallowed before grace |
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And you'll forgive even the time they burned the hen house |
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And ran from you, ran to the hills with burning hands |
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Setting sun framed in the doorway right behind you |
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Several chores, surely some lessons left to tell |
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Setting sun was in the hills and now before you |
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Set your boys, each with their shining silverware |
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They'll bury you under the wood beside the carport |
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They'll bury you some neon stop along the way |
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Radio fuzz on the fence post by the pasture |
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Long ago, Liza and you would dance all day |
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Now you lay buried, the stern and sacred father |
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And sacred earth under a billboard in the rain |
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For one last toast, here's to the brave who went before us |
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Who died in vain, died in a movie for a dream |