American Motor Over Smoldered Field lyrics

It will not be a tender fireUpon your postcard mountains No golden children Will write hymns about The slow defeat of your reckless destinyBullets in the bellies of babies Sleeping in the strangest places Indifferent to the blinding grace of The vapour-trails and burning waste Of your baptist skiesOh! To live! In a burning house With burning children eating dust And finger-painting flags Smoke pours out of their eyes They're praying and salutingThey're all hanged up Hey! Okay! Kiss me slowly Beneath the dripping leaves Of our traintrack trees Though sickly and diseasedSome weeds thrive anywaysThis fence around your garden won't keep the sky from falling...