From the recording Born To Howl


Down in the valleyWhere the Red River flowsStanding at a gravesideBy the bramble and the roseWe've come to bid a fond farewellIn this our darkest hourWe've gone and neglectedOur pale wildwood flowerSo beat the drum slowly as they carry her awayWrapped in white linen as cold as the clayI see Tammy and Patsy with their long black dresses onMourning the death of the American songSongs that haunt our memoriesSung on porches long agoAll that's left of them todayAre footprints in the snowI'm waiting at the stationBut I fear I wait in vain'Cause Old 97Is rusting in the rainThe radio is playingGot the latest top ten onThe kind you hear todayThat you know tomorrow will be goneI see those painted facesThey are smiling on TVAnd I find that they're allRank strangers to me