Who will write love songs for you
when I am lowered at last
And your body is a little highway shrine
that all my priests will passed
that all my priests have passed

My priests they will put flowers there
They will kneel before the glass
But they'll wear away your little window love
They will trample on the grass
They will trample on the grass

The simple life of heroes
The twisted life of saints
They just confuse the sunny calendar
With their red and golden paint

And all of you have seen the dance
that God has kept from me
Tho he has seen me watching you 
when all your minds were free
when all your minds were free

Who will write love songs for you
when I am lowered at last
And your body is a little highway shrine
that all my priests have passed
that all my priests have passed