To Scatter One's Own

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