From the recording It's a Short Life

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7) Gravedigger’s Wage

I’m drivin’ at the end of a winter rain
Empty streets ain’t got no one to call my name
I left all my friends, Lord, it seems so long ago
In a land where the wind will always blow

I carry the memory of a man
Of his love, his pride, his hard old hand
I can’t recall the image of his grave
He never worked for no gravedigger’s wage

Beneath the painted vaults they call the city
Where neon spirits gather in silent pity
Walk their weary souls down dark alleyways
All a’huntin’ for a gravedigger’s wage

That voice I hear is cold ‘n hollow
He says, “Put all ya got, boy, down on tomorrow”
But if I’ve got the blues I’m goin’ to sing ‘em today
Ain’t gonna sing for no gravedigger’s wage