There's grace in the weight of an M1 Garand
And the blue of the barrel feels good in my hand
With its might I just might finally find what to do
With these idle by mornings and long afternoons

It was late in November when the blush of your face
And the blaze of the maples was fading to greys
Just the ghost of a whisper, the shade of a sign
Of the dark that descended from heaven on high

It came on in a torrent it rattled the panes
While the wind through the hinges was howling your name
Now the roar of the thunder and the smell of the rain
Is getting sweeter and sadder and farther away

When I was a boy all the girls seemed to know
When I asked for her hand that I'd step on their toes
But those old white oak boards were never touching our shoes
When we danced in the kitchen to six o'clock news

If there's a gun in act one all the experts would say
That it's got to be shot by the end of the play
But I wait for the curtain and watch from the stage
Getting sweeter and sadder and farther away