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This song is by Oliver Oat.

The bone may be strained but the marrow remained
Coats still in pace with the waltz
He's a cripple old man, teeth silver, eyes bloodshot
The fear in his fingers to be young and dumb again

Gathering clouds gathering clouds gathering clouds
Higher to the sun
It's been cold
Since he reached for his gun
Now he shouldn't be messed with

And my housey waits out on the open
And my housey waits out on the open

Things that disappear
Will be back the next year
She keeps her berries untouched

And the V flies over
Brother, follow the arrow of north
And with eyes wide open
You can see what the center brought forth

And we're better off dead
But we couldn't be fussed with

And my housey waits out on the open
And my housey waits out on the open