#bruised orange

John Prine - Sabu Visits the Twin Cities Alone (1978)

Hard not to smile when you listen to this song. Sending prayers to John Prine, who is hospitalized with COVID-19.

John Prine

John Prine

I used to work at this Episcopal Church

When I was like thirteen years old

I was saving money for a guitar

And I'd go in on weekends and dust the pews up

'Cause round about then, a lot of people started going to church

So the pews would get real dusty

And I'd wax the cross up, vacuum the carpet

And clean up the cup they put the wine in

Religion kind of lost its magic for me

I was a roadie for god

In the wintertime they used to call me up early on Sunday morning

To come get the snow out, off the walk in front of the church

'Cause if one of the congregation fell and busted their ass

They'd sue the church for all the money they'd given it

All those years

And I used to have to go in pretty early

About five thirty, six o'clock on Sunday morning

To take care of the snow, I always thought it was a real

Strange time of the day, particularly on a Sunday morning

You normally see people are out late from Saturday night

Or else people really had a job on Sunday morning

Like a newsboy or altar boy or a bunch of people like that

I seen, I was going over one Sunday morning

And this kid who was going over to a Catholic church

This altar boy, he got hit by a train

He was just kind of screwing around, walking down the track

Looking at his shoes and

He got hit, he was a pretty bad mess

And there was about six or seven mothers around the scene of the accident

They didn't know where their sons were at the time

They didn't know who had gotten hit

And it took about fifteen, twenty minutes to identify him

I always remember, like, the look on one mother's, on the other mother's faces

Not the ones that, the others had a big sigh of relief

And they tried to comfort the other one but they were too relieved

To be very comforting

My heart's in the ice house, come hill or come valley

Like a long ago Sunday when I walked through the alley

On a cold winter's morning to a church house

Just to shovel some snow

I heard sirens on the train tracks, howl naked, gettin' nuder

"An altar boy's been hit by a local commuter"

Just from walking with his back turned

To the train that was coming so slow

You can gaze out the window, get mad and get madder

Throw your hands in the air, say, "What does it matter?"

But it don't do no good to get angry

So help me, I know

For a heart stained in anger grows weak and grows bitter

You become your own prisoner as you watch yourself sit there

Wrapped up in a trap of your very own

Chain of sorrow

I been brought down to zero, pulled out and put back there

I sat on a park bench, I kissed the girl with the black hair

And my head shouted down to my heart

"You better look out below!"

Hey, it ain't such a long drop, don't stammer, don't stutter

From the diamonds in the sidewalk to the dirt in the gutter

And you'll carry those bruises to remind you wherever you go

You can gaze out the window, get mad and get madder

Throw your hands in the air, say, "What does it matter?"

But it don't do no good to get angry

So help me, I know

For a heart stained in anger grows weak and grows bitter

You become your own prisoner as you watch yourself sit there

Wrapped up in a trap of your very own

Chain of sorrow

My heart's in the ice house, come hill or come valley

Like a long ago Sunday when I walked through the alley

On a cold winter's morning to a church house

Just to shovel some snow

I heard sirens on the train tracks, howl naked, gettin' nuder

"An altar boy's been hit by a local commuter"

Just from walking with his back turned

To the train that was coming so slow

You can gaze out the window, get mad and get madder

Throw your hands in the air, say, "What does it matter?"

But it don't do no good to get angry

So help me, I know

For a heart stained in anger grows weak and grows bitter

You become your own prisoner as you watch yourself sit there

Wrapped up in a trap of your very own

Chain of sorrow

We sing this like nine times, I don't remember

Source: Musixmatch

Songwriters: Prine John E

(x) Kanene Pipkin of The Lone Bellow, singing John Prine’s “Bruised Orange”

Provided to YouTube by Rhino/Elektra

That’s the Way the World Goes Round · John Prine

Bruised Orange

℗ 1975 Atlantic Recording Corporation for the United States and WEA International Inc. for the world outside of the United States.

Acoustic Guitar: John Prine Vocals: John Prine Producer: Steve Goodman Writer: John Prine

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