A rifle sits behind your sleeping ear.

Echo on the cold wall,

closest neighbour couldn't hear.

We'd dug a hole in the fall,

so now it's a frozen burial.

And she's gone,

just before the new year.



Well, I'm gonna build a cross for a spot between the trees

and stick it in firm so it won't sway in their breeze.

Well, you and I have trouble makin' up our half-assed minds,

but she'd seen sixteen years of our kind.



What's it like when your memories start to freeze?



Oh, and I wonder

what it is about dogs and thunder,

what they hear

comin' over the field.

Back hall shelter, warm nights in summer,

shakin' the ground that you lie under.

Well, I know you're not here,

but at least you don't feel it anymore.



And I came to see you

on the day that it happened.

You said: