C'mon, kind Sir, let's walk outside
 And breathe the autumn air
 See the many that have lived and died
 See the unending golden stair
 See all of us that [bad word] behind
 Clutching at your hem
 All the way from Arkansas
 To your sweet and last amen

 Let the bells ring
 He is the real thing
 Let the bells ring
 He is the real, real thing

 Take this deafening thunder down
 Take this bread and take this wine
 Your passing is not what we mourn
 But the world you left behind
 Well, do not breathe, nor make a sound
 And behold your mighty work
 That towers over the uncaring ground
 Of a lesser, darker world

 Let the bells ring
 He is the real thing
 Let the bells ring
 He is the real, real thing

 There are those of us not fit to tie
 The laces of your shoes
 Must remain behind to testify
 Through an elementary blues
 So, let's walk outside, the hour is late
 Through your [bad word] and scattered shells
 Where the awed and the mediocre wait
 Barely fit to ring the bells

 Let the bells ring
 He is the real thing
 Let the bells ring
 He is the real, real thing