riff A
to a graveyard in my town
The people came
Riff b:
With plastic roses faded grey from red
Seems that they come here every year
crying their hopeless tears
We do not grieve as they who have no hope
In Jesus we're not walkin' `round
like this is all there is
we're in this world, but we're not of it
`cause we are His, We are His
A man sold guns away, on a corner of my town
And he was open only sundays and he liked it that way
Sir, I've gotta ask you, what's that picture there
Before my pain was carved in stone
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