The Flood of Sorrow

I know it wasn’t blood but it was someone in the ring
That drove me to strike out on my own
So I broke hateful ground in the hellfire canyons
And dubbed myself the “King of Sorrow”

And the high-water marks on the sandstone
Were as good as a Baptist preacher’s word
But I never really thought much of the future
Or the flood of Sorrow

The first thing that I built was a homestead for my lonesome
And for years I was the only soul around
But soon the sound of hammers echoed off the wind-cut walls
And Sorrow bloomed into a sprawling town

And the high-water marks on the sandstone
Were as good as a Baptist preacher’s word
But no one really thought much of the future
Or the flood of Sorrow

No one had half-a-chance to pray or even run
When a freak August rain turned the creek into a torrent
That ripped the roots of Sorrow
Right from the ground
Like it was a dirt-weed in God’s holy garden

And the high-water marks on the sandstone
Were as good as a Baptist preacher’s word
But there’s no one left to think about the future
Or the flood of Sorrow

Or the flood of Sorrow
Or the flood of Sorrow

© 2019 Plaid Rain Music (BMI)