The pallbearer's march is heard on the hill
The tempest has faded, the ocean lies still
But oh Mrs. Harris, mad in her time
Her broken heart breaking her sad little mind
Twenty-one times they show how he died
Aim at him smiling down from the sky
But oh Mrs. Harris, never once hears
Just stares through the haze, pale in the clear
"Where is my sweet boy to carry me home
He died in the tropics and left me alone"
Cries Mrs. Harris, a shadow of life
Infinite times for infinite nights
The weeks drip by slowly like dew from the trees
Her hatred and spite devour her with ease
And oh Mrs. Harris now knows what to do
"I'll make him so pretty and shiny and new"
She lurked through the blackness of a harsh winter's night
With a void in herself and a psychotic might
Poor Mrs. Harris, with an old kitchen knife
Sang to him softly, "I'll bring you to life"
Raging forth the box lid, staring into his face
His vibrancy forsake him, without a trace
Oh Mrs. Harris, all on her own
Carried her hero all the way home
She dressed him in a brand new jacket and tie
She combed his hair and sang him hushed lullabies
Doomed Mrs. Harris, and her dashing white knight
Lost in the drift of a desolate night
But one day she saw what she knew to be true
His soulless black eyes, once stormy blue
Now Mrs. Harris, finding her sight
Sees only the drift of a desolate night
With John in the yard she lies on the bed
Her baby's old Winchester, pointed at her head
With a blast and a smile she sleeps at the door
John and Joy Harris don't live here anymore