Call your boys, now that the table's set and shining
No one's seen any of them in many days
Call your boys, they shot a buzzard off the Chrysler
And you still taste all that you swallowed before graceAnd you'll forgive even the time they burned the henhouse
And ran from you, ran to the hills with burning hands
Setting sun, framed in the doorway right behind you
Several chores, surely some lessons left to tellSetting sun, wolves in the hills and now before you
Said your boys, each with his shining silverware
They'll burry you under the wood beside the carport
Burry you, some neon stop along the wayRadio fuzz on the fencepost by the pasture
Long ago Liza and you would dance all day
Now you lay buried, the stern and sacred father
And sacred earth, under a billboard in the rain