Seven men in a dust bin congress
Standing in a row for final harvest
There's a swinging motion to their shadows
As if the sun above was a pocket watch
Sparrows diving in the whirlwinds arriving
Playing games with floating dead flowers revolving
Those little white darlings like the hard snow falling
On someone just standing over what they've caught
There's always been a deep six waiting right below you
Every time you thought you had tomorrow to wake up to
Now you shut your eyes, don't hold your tears back
As your head gets a hold of what they're giving you
And your legs start folding in twelve different places
And up and down your back you feel the spectators' faces
Hear your slow counting in three slow paces
And your brain shows you pictures of wide open spaces
Where you once shot the rifle your grandfather gave you
At a brand new white wooden water tower
But don't come to me and cry 'May Day'
'Cause it doesn't work that way
But don't come to me and cry 'May Day'
'Cause it doesn't work that way
I'm sure you didn't get a chance to see it
But those scruffy boys from our country pockets
Had a mean case of jitters that could
Shake the name off God above
And this is where you learn to talk in secrets
Where the guilt's so dry and the sweat is helpless
When they say, "You know this is for what he did"
But it just isn't good enough
Well, I've seen karma and his ball dropping
I've seen life and its clever ways of stopping
I've seen people chase dreams until the dream's forgotten
And I've seen a killer with a heavy heart
When the trigger can just be made of plastic
And the blood can just be something that ruined the fabric
On the uniform that you could just burn with matches
But your eyes fall shut as reality disquiets
And you finally know that what has happened today
Is going to be a part of you
And this better be a big pay day
But it doesn't look that way
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written by TAYLOR GOLDSMITH P/K/A SIMON DAWES, BLAKE MILLS
Lyrics © BMG RIGHTS MANAGEMENT US, LLC