The Gray

One day I know the rain will stop, so I'll wait to see the sunlight through the leaves

Since Good Friday so it seems, my smoke infested dreams have beat my soul below my blackened knees

Hampton saw the fog roll in, and he reaped just what he sowed so long ago

And what's left of the Dixie piper who lead us hand in hand into the snow

'Cause the county sent us off in spangled ribbons

And marching tunes until the day was done

They must have known we wouldn't see Thanksgiving

The martyr men, we're second to all none

Old Robert Lee he laughs at me as we lose 200 more at Wilson's Creek

And the fog's rolling into the sea now, so I lay me down this hollow, cursed week