[Verse 1: Rosanne Cash]
Rain falls on the paramedics but they do not go inside
The street is where it all went down, the street is where he lies
The mother in her universe feels nothing but the pain
The son who was a baby but who will never be a man
[Chorus 1: Rosanne Cash, Kris Kristofferson, and Elvis Costello & Rosanne Cash]
So we pray to the God of Broken Class
We pray to the God of Gunfire and Regret
We pray to the God of Collateral Children
We pray to them all, the eight Gods of Harlem
[Verse 2: Kris Kristofferson]
Son was on his best behavior, shit was on his shoes
Blood was on the handlebars, nothing on the news
No one saw it coming, no one was to blame
Daddy's got a broken heart, he'll never be the same
[Chorus 2: Rosanne Cash, Kris Kristofferson, and Elvis Costello & Kris Kristofferson]
So we pray to the God of Old Illusions
We pray to the God of Wasted Chances
We pray to the God of Dreams and Roses
We pray to them all, the eight Gods of Harlem
[Verse 3: Elvis Costello]
A girl falls down in hysterics
Is she laughing? Is she crying? Is she living? Is he dying?
Undone dressed beautiful
Who raise the glasses higher
Sulfur from the underground
Erosion, scalding steam
Her brother in a picture frame
And someone starts to scream
Rain falls on the paramedics but they do not go inside
The street is where it all went down, the street is where he lies
The mother in her universe feels nothing but the pain
The son who was a baby but who will never be a man
[Chorus 1: Rosanne Cash, Kris Kristofferson, and Elvis Costello & Rosanne Cash]
So we pray to the God of Broken Class
We pray to the God of Gunfire and Regret
We pray to the God of Collateral Children
We pray to them all, the eight Gods of Harlem
[Verse 2: Kris Kristofferson]
Son was on his best behavior, shit was on his shoes
Blood was on the handlebars, nothing on the news
No one saw it coming, no one was to blame
Daddy's got a broken heart, he'll never be the same
[Chorus 2: Rosanne Cash, Kris Kristofferson, and Elvis Costello & Kris Kristofferson]
So we pray to the God of Old Illusions
We pray to the God of Wasted Chances
We pray to the God of Dreams and Roses
We pray to them all, the eight Gods of Harlem
[Verse 3: Elvis Costello]
A girl falls down in hysterics
Is she laughing? Is she crying? Is she living? Is he dying?
Undone dressed beautiful
Who raise the glasses higher
Sulfur from the underground
Erosion, scalding steam
Her brother in a picture frame
And someone starts to scream
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