Brother, you've been sluggin' whiskey Fashioned all your crosses to numb your blood and body, to withstand your split losses But you found no holy cities in the bottom of your glass And so you cry out Zion, please, make my last sips last Pious brother to your vices you were shunned and burned your cradle Claim killer, you claim martyr, my brother Cain my brother AbleAnd there are evenings I recall I was older than your years Ram headed son, prodigal gun, shot with mama's tears
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TABLE SONG, KATIE KUFFEL.