Whenever Mom sings Golden Rings, Dad takes harmony
And all the parts where he sings along helps her find the key
If ever Dad forgets a verse, Mom’ll take the lead
Whenever Mom sings Golden Rings, Dad takes harmony
Each song to her’s a simple verse that curls up in her heart
A pretty flower whose dirty roots are worth more than its parts
Each song to her some bottled words, fermenting poetry
Whose foaming grace will one day make a living memory
There are times when all I sing is yesterday’s gospel
I have found them to be both dark and thoughtful
A song that’s full of grief and praise, a story we all know
A storm that lies deep inside, you get caught in the throws
Country flair, sweet and bare, your voice is old and good
The rattle of the rusty strings and the timbre of the wood
When you sing out with all your heart so passionately
You can land flat or sharp, it doesn’t bother me
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