sadie, white coat, carry me home. bury this bone, take this pine-cone. bury this bone to gnaw on it later; gnaw on the telephone. 'til then, we pray and suspend the notion that these lives do never end. and all day long we talk about mercy; lead me to water lord, i sure am thirsty. down in the ditch where i nearly served you, up in the clouds where he almost heard you. and all that we built, and all that we breathed, and all that we spilt, or pulled up like weeds, is piled up in back it burns irrevocably. we spoke up in turns, 'til the silence crept over me. bless you and i deeply do no longer resolute, and i call to you. but the water got so cold, and you do lose what you don't hold. this is an old song, these are old blues. this ins not my tune, but it's mine to use (you). and the seabirds where the fear once grew will flock with a fury, and they will bury what'd come for you. down where i darn with the milk-eyed mender; you and i, and a love so tender, is stretched-on the hoop where i stitch-this adage: "bless our house and its heart so savage." and all that i want, and all that i need, and all that i've got is scattered like seed. and all that i knew is moving away from me. and all that i know is blowing like tumbleweed. and the mealy worms in the brine will burn in a salty pyre, among the fauns and ferns. and the love we hold, and the love we spurn, will never grow cold only taciturn. and i'll tell you tomorrow. sadie, go on home now. bless those who've sickened below; bless us who've chosen so. and all that i've got and all that i need, i tie in a knot that i lay at your feet. i have not forgot, but a silence crept over me. so dig up your bone, exhume your pine-cone, my sadie.