Death On Basin Street by John Goodblood Lyrics

Some make it throwing darts at the dirt pile
Some make it digging up broken bones
Some fake it selling gin at the crossed mile
"To those taking all the things that he owns"

God rests beneath the warmest of blankets
And I wake on top of a bed of coal
This house ain't full of nothing but bandits
Awaiting every drop of the soul

Try to pick me whole, vulture
Here or in Muscle Shoals
Torture me until my bones are sculptures
Walking so discreet
In the alley where they all meet
Death on Basin Street

Saint Peter put up a fence to hide heaven
Then left this dying city behind
Here on the ninth but gone on the seventh
There's an army full of eyes left so blind
Keep dancing to the rhythm good soldier
But stay hid until the moonlights begun
The night comes with the freaks growing colder
They're bringing every knife and each gun

All these criminals. Live behind masks of political decieving
Is there anything at all to believe in?
Or should I take a seat?
Watch her pass, see her hand as she greets
Another death on Basin Street