e watson

The Decemberists

The year old painted 'pallid' grey, the storm was coming in. Folks were
Lining out in all directions. Me and 'Hord' and Henry Short were pitching
On the skiff, trying to make it home before the night. And the grey waves
Were rolling. Bold the brave, brave ocean and roll the suckers in. Well I
Don't keep to goings on, I tend to stick with kin, but Watson had it in
From the beginning. Built that house on 'Chatum' bed, wine wash knotted
Pine. 90 acres 'furrowed' for 'the cane.' He drove it down from Georgia,
His dad a martyred soldier in the war between the states.

Lord, bring down the flood. Wash away the blood. Drown these everglades,
Put us in our place. We laid Edgar Watson in his grave. We laid him in his
Grave.

'Till I'm dust I'll never know why he came to shore, with all those killers
Gathered on the shoreline. Kicking holes in ugly mud, trigger fingers
Pinched, brace your rifles, bristled in the wind. And we towed his body
North bound, buried him all face down to 'get' you into Hell.

Lord, bring down down the flood. Wash away the blood. Drown these
Everglades, put us in our place. We laid Edgar Watson in his grave. We laid
Him in his grave. We laid him in his grave. We laid him in his grave.