There's a sinkhole fallen from the cold grey sky
Where they scraped that trooper off the highway side
Two runaway convicts, kids on dope they said
Cops flooded out the holler dragged the river still
They never found them boys and I doubt they will
Just another lonesome chapter
In the Appalachian Book of the Dead

Where you gonna go when you can't go home
Where you gonna go? Where you gonna go?
Blood calls to blood bone cleaves to bone
Where you gonna go when you can't go home?

Winter came early the cold wind blew
And my grandma painted her porch haint blue
That night in Ammit County when the corn moon turned blood red
But something cold is stirring at the bottom of the creek
Where that little boy drowned back in '63
And the ink is running over
In the Appalachian Book of the Dead

Where you gonna go when you can't go home
Where you gonna go? Where you gonna go?
Blood calls to blood bone cleaves to bone
Where you gonna go when you can't go home?

Buckshot rattling in a garbage pail
A sliver of truth dug into every tale
A weeping angel painted on rusted shed
The dead hate the living but what do they know?
Just little white crosses on a county road
But they're writing out the ledger
In the Appalachian Book of the Dead

Where you gonna go when you can't go home
Where you gonna go? Where you gonna go?
Blood calls to blood bone cleaves to bone
Where you gonna go when you can't go home?