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