From the album Motherland
Saddle up the horses and wear your Sunday best, sing your Sacred Harp, you be holier than the rest. Fill up the room with a grand and a thunderous song. Let it rattle out the windows, let it spill out on the lawn. Shout, shout your praises to the man who kissed the Lord, to the back-stabbing brother that betrayed all of this world, your Judas!
Yea, though you may walk in the valley in the dark, there’s no greater evil than the darkness in your heart. With your stun guns, bloodhounds, needle and your razor wire, nylon-shackle whipping-post and your high-tech burning tire, with your Judas!
Whiplash crack across the back, across the arms, although you bound his feet, he running fast he running hard through them crickets in the corn and them horses in the field. Hear the “caw, caw” of the crows, see the devil at the wheel, y’all, Judas!
Go on down to Alabama, Mississippi, Arkansas, Oklahoma, Texas, Kentucky, Florida, Louisiana and Tennessee, Georgia, Carolina, Carolina.
Natalie Merchant / Indian Love Bride ©2001