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Our Patriarch
Now all around this border town
The lads and lassies gather round
All that is heard a mournin’ sound
The salty tears a runnin’ down
Our patriarch with greasy hands
He held the golden cages key
For twenty years he sailed the seas
With a trumpet on his knees
He drank the wine of ancient tung’s
And with his hands began to build
A tower for the bells we rung
A temple for the whippoorwill
Now all around this border town
The lads and lassies gather round
All that is heard a mournin’ sound
The salty tears a runnin’ down
With eyes of blue and jacket too
In trousers red and beard of grey
A casket built of his own hand
Our patriarch has died today
Heavy Ornamentals [2006]
Our Patriarch