on the old forgotten crossways where the fourteen rivers did meet the bones of our elders were lying in the street on the dark and dusty deserts like a ghost i ve flown i barely cried wherever i d ride i d never find a home woe on me somehow i will feel more free to wallow in the empty headed peace where the plain hearted sorrows never cease well i am just a ramshackle i go from town to town when there is no shelter i lay down on the ground i killed for no reason i pissed upon the vine cussed and moaned and burned the bone when i had the time woe on me somehow i will feel more free to wallow in the empty headed peace where the plain hearted sorrows never cease there s saints and there is animals they ve taken what they could and it s written in the pages to do just what they should they stood the test and burned the rest and tore them limb from limb like the fashion with no passion they opened up their skin woe on me somehow i will feel more free to wallow in the empty headed peace where the plain hearted sorrows never cease