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Almost home
When I missed the bottom stair
You were braiding your gray hair
It had grown so long
Since I'd been gone
And the perfect girls
By the pool, they would protest
The cross around their necks
But our sons were overseas
And we all know about the hive and the honey bees
Almost home
With an olive branch and a dove
You were beating on a Persian rug
With your bible and your wedding band
Both hidden on a TV stand

And the cruel wind blew
Every city father fell
Off the county carousel
While the dogs were eating snow
All our sons had sunk in a trunk of Noah's clothes
Almost home
We got lost on our new street
While your grieving girls all died in their sleep
So the dogs all went unfed
A great dream of bones all piled on the bed
And the cops couldn't care
When that crackhead built a boat
And said, "Please, before I go
May our only honored bone
Be the kinship of the kids and the riot squad"

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The Shack story is one of music's greatest legends, a tale of such woe and wonder it defies exaggeration. It incorporates hardship, bereavement and chaotic misadventure, but above all it tells The tale of beautiful music triumphing over trouble and tragedy. And that's where we begin: with the beautiful music. In the '80's, the two brothers from the Kensington area in Liverpool were singer and guitarist with The Pale Fountains, an effervescent pop group who were signed to Virgin for the ridiculous (in those days) sum of £150,000 and commercially imploded under the weight of two albums in 1986.

Read more about Shack on Last.fm.


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Shack