Pray American Murder Song

Bless this table
Bless this bread
Bless the boards above our head
Keep our sins beneath the shed
We do not eat alone

She sets the wicker jug
And pulls the kitchen snug
And rings the supper bowl
With a spoon

She carries out the plates
And squeezes past the crates
And butters every roll
With a tune

He gives his hands a wipe
And hangs his evening pipe
And sits down on his knees
With his wife

He papers up their laps
Outside the rooster flaps
As he counts out the peas
With a knife