[ Featuring Josh Cunningham ]
Scared of the silence scared of the sound
Fumbling at the deadbolt door
Better to run than stick around
For tomorrow just to get what for
Buckshot peppered in the she oak tree
Where the rope swing hangs like a noose
Forty four miles to liberty
If he don't cut that bloodhound loose
Fly by night
The Darkness of the day
Is much too bright
For you to slip away
Tracks cut deep in the virgin snow
The wind's too cold to moan
Cover your trail so nothing shows
Or You'll be sleeping neath a white tombstone
Pray to the Lord to make you strong
And pity your wretched soul
A blanket of lies won't keep you warm
Threadbare and full of holes
Everything you own you're carrying
Like a target on your back
Keep your feet on the narrow way
There's nothing that you lack
