Sadie, white coat, you carry me home and bury this bone and take this pinecone.

Bury this bone to gnaw on it later, gnawing on the telephone.
And 'til then, we pray and suspend the notion that these lives do never end.

And all day long we talk about mercy.
Lead me to water lord, I sure am thirsty.
Down in the ditch where I nearly served you.
Up in the clouds where he almost heard you.

And all that we built, and all that we breathed, and all that we spilt or pulled up like weeds is piled up in back and it burns irrevocably.

And we spoke up in turns 'til the silence crept over me.

Bless you, and I deeply do. No longer resolute, oh, and I call to you.
But the water got so cold, and you do lose what you don't hold.

This is an old song, these are old blues, and this is not my tune.
But it's mine to use.
And the seabirds, where the fear once grew, will flock with a fury and they will bury what'd come for you.

And down where I darn with the milk-eyed mender:
You and I, and a love so tender.
Stretched on a hoop where I stitch this addage:
"Bless our house and it's heart, so savage."

And all that I want, and all that I need, and all that I've got is scattered like seeds. And all that I knew is moving away from me.
And all that I know is blowing like tumbleweed.

And the mealy worms in the brine will burn in a salty pyre among the fauns and ferns.

And the love we hold, and the love we spurn, will never grow cold, only taciturn.

And I'll tell you tomorrow, O Sadie, go on home now.
And bless those who've sickened below, and bless us who have chosen so.

And all that I've got, and all that I need, I tie in a knot, and I lay at your feet. And I have not forgot when the silence crept over me.

So dig up your bone, exhume your pinecone, Sadie.

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