From the recording Born To Howl

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Down in the valley
Where the Red River flows
Standing at a graveside
By the bramble and the rose
We've come to bid a fond farewell
In this our darkest hour
We've gone and neglected
Our pale wildwood flower

So beat the drum slowly as they carry her away
Wrapped in white linen as cold as the clay
I see Tammy and Patsy with their long black dresses on
Mourning the death of the American song

Songs that haunt our memories
Sung on porches long ago
All that's left of them today
Are footprints in the snow
I'm waiting at the station
But I fear I wait in vain
'Cause Old 97
Is rusting in the rain

The radio is playing
Got the latest top ten on
The kind you hear today
That you know tomorrow will be gone
I see those painted faces
They are smiling on TV
And I find that they're all
Rank strangers to me