John Prine My heart’s in the ice house come hill or come valleyLike a long ago Sunday when
John Prine My heart’s in the ice house come hill or come valleyLike a long ago Sunday when I walked through the alleyOn a cold winter’s morning to a church houseJust to shovel some snow.I heard sirens on the train track howl naked gettin’ nuder,An altar boy’s been hit by a local commuterJust from walking with his back turnedTo the train that was coming so slow.You can gaze out the window get mad and get madder,Throw your hands in the air, say “; What does it matter?”;But it don’t do no good to get angry,So help me I knowFor a heart stained in anger grows weak and grows bitter.You become your own prisoner as you watch yourself sit thereWrapped up in a trap of your very ownChain of sorrow.I been brought down to zero, pulled out and put back there.I sat on a park bench, kissed the girl with the black hairAnd my head shouted down to my heart“; You better look out below!”;Hey, it ain’t such a long drop don’t stammer don’t stutterFrom the diamonds in the sidewalk to the dirt in the gutterAnd you carry those bruises to remind you wherever you go. -- source link
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