the bullet is in the chamber, the ghost in your mind 

the judgment is in the papers while the children all go blind

and there’s one look for expression and another one for a lie 

we’ll never know why 

you’re wild in your wonder and you drink and think and pray

there’s nothing you can do to bring the girl back from the grave 

there’s a young man in the corner with a madness in his eyes,

that’ll never go away

there’s a vulture on the bluff and he’s eyeing what bleeds 

he came out from nowhere, now he’s nursing his disease 

by the time that the leaves turn, and the hills go up in flames 

all hope dies away

and the locals pray for rain 

the child wears his rifle and he’s practicing his aim 

and the impression of his idols is blackening his brain 

but there’s no time to recover when the wind blows us away

and the broken lullaby plays

from the attic in the rain

now the bullet is in the barrel and with wings it wants to fly   

the television sets the table and the connection serves the wine 

his mother is in the garden and she’s burying the time 

and we’ll never know why, we’ll never know why, we’ll never know why 

we’ll never know why