The Valley

Watch the sun switching in the sky, off and on
where our friend stands bleeding on the late summer lawn
a slicked back bloody black gunshot to the head
He has fallen in the valley of the rock and roll dead.

I hear a breeze, it wheezes through the tips of the pines
where there's laughter and there's screaming to the rafters in the night
The moon rolls dreaming through the late spring sky
where our friend lies bleeding through his jacket and his tie
A slit throat makes a note like a raw winter wind
We were piled at the river with the rock and roll skinned.

Times ten.

Like the water loves lapping at the skin of the shore
hear our friend come tapping at the latches on the door
Like a foot slips, slapping on the ladder's last rung
we were thrashing in the clatter of the rock and roll hung.

Minus one.

It's just a loud crowd crush
It's just a thrush, seen flying through the late autumn dusk
just for the very last time
It's just a busted-up body in the dust of the last road
out of the city, when the city explodes
Light grows, and the light grows bright, and red-tinged
We were fallen on the border with the rock and roll singed.

Times ten
Times ten
Times ten
Ten again, then another ten million
Fallen in the valley of the rock and roll dead.

Times ten
Ten again, then another ten million
Fallen in the valley of the rock and roll dead.

Times ten
Ten again, then another ten million
Fallen in the valley of the rock and roll dead.

Times ten
Ten again, then another ten million
Fallen in the valley of the rock and roll dead.

Times ten
Ten again, then another ten million
Fallen in the valley of the rock and roll dead.