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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