Pretty Things

Down by the river
Three sickle mounted souls,
Lay wined on the green leaf,
Digging their rock 'n' roll,
Hey hey, digging their rock 'n' roll.
Slashed by the wild geese,
The silence it did tear,
Sticks swung in violence,
You America murdered there
Hey hey, young America murdered there.
As one soul lay dying,
Only two were there to care.
On through the valleys,
Sad sickle clowns they ride.
Pressed tight against morning,
Beneath the blackened sky.
Hey hey, beneath the blackened sky.
There on a hill of gold
Wild children play.
They bend to pick the flowers.
The sun dissolves the day.
Hey hey, the sun dissolves the day.
If you can't close one eye,
Then turn the other way.