My heart's in the ice house come hill or come valley
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Like a long ago Sunday when I walked through the alley
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On a cold winter's morning to a church house
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just to shovel some snow.
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I heard sirens on the train track howl naked gettin' nuder,
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An altar boy's been hit by a local commuter
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just from walking with his back turned
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to the train that was coming so slow.
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You can gaze out the window get mad and get madder,
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throw your hands in the air, say "What does it matter?"
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but it don't do no good to get angry,
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so help me I know
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For a heart stained in anger grows weak and grows bitter.
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You become your own prisoner as you watch yourself sit there
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wrapped up in a trap of your very own
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chain of sorrow.
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I been brought down to zero, pulled out and put back there.
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I sat on a park bench, kissed the girl with the black hair
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and my head shouted down to my heart
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"You better look out below!"
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Hey, it ain't such a long drop don't stammer don't stutter
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from the diamonds in the sidewalk to the dirt in the gutter
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and you carry those bruises to remind you wherever you go.
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Bruised Orange (Chain of Sorrows)
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| John Prine |
