The man with seven dollars walks the plank today.
His shirt is stained with evening mixed with hunger, hunger, hunger.
He’s heard it said that love is just a game we play
-the uncertainty of innocence, the over-used clichés.

The woman with a hairnet woke up late tonight.
Her tender eyelids circled in a weary, weary, weary life
of punching in the hours while her thoughts parade
around her ring-less finger that feels naked as it punches out the pain.

The child with her hands tied tight around the clock,
she doesn’t know what’s better, better, better for her future stock
is built upon the feeling that she’s nothing much
-a single withered flower in a broken flower pot.

Do you want to go? Go where the canyon splits?
Do you want to see? See the sun in all its radiance?
Do you want to hold me in your arms?
For where the blossoms fall, I will be and I will call,
“Good shepherd, walk this moonshiner home.”

The mother with her make-up and her posh perfume,
who’s waiting for her boss to call her “baby, baby, baby”
got the kids off early and her husband’s gone.
Her life becomes a movie when she puts her high-heel Pradas on.

The father with his briefcase and his cigarettes
off to save the country with his fighting, fighting politics.
His temper breeds production, his look is fierce –
a ten cent soul that’s dropping in a thousand dollar suit.

Do you want to go? Go where the canyon splits?
Do you want to see? See the sun in all its radiance?
Do you want to hold me in your arms?
Do you want to hold me in your arms?
Do you want to hold me in your arms?

For where the blossoms fall I will be and I will call
“Good shepherd, walk this moonshiner home.”