Hold my head
Hold my faith
Hold my eyes to the sky
When your scythe has, has me cut in
God’s great, great dust storm

Take my sins
Wash them clean
Pour the last drink for me
And watch me, watch me burn in
God’s great, great dust storm

I’ll be your gimp
Whipped through the skin
In the hour that you come
There are greedy crows in
God’s great, great dust storm

I have walked the line
In my best black suit
Through fields in sweet quiet mourn
Please let the faithful come forth in
God’s great, great dust storm