To Scatter One's Own
William Patrick Corgan
Scatter me out on the prairie
Western gales sup' on the grave
Not that this matters
It's not that it's worn
Or thread bare and battered
And the song must rise
And the song must rise
Cast as leaves with ball and scythe
A feather on his right
It's rinse and change, repent or die
For Enoch changes stripes
Not that this matters
It's not that it's worn
Or thread bare and battered
And the song must rise on the valley
And the foolish knight will lead
Morning comes, but death approaching
Echoes pierce to flit thine eye
Sweet but place, I'm gone with age
Slayers mourn, but God confides
Not that this matters
It's not that it's worn
Or thread bare and tattered
And the song must rise
Cast us leaves with bail and bride
His brother by his side
A pathway horse will fly and fly
Oh for a stage, ignites a fire
Morning comes, with death approaching
Echoes pierce to flit thine eye
Not that this matters
Or not that it's worn
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