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The wind howls through the limestone walls
Austin, 1885, the shadow falls
On empty streets of dirt and stone Where the oldest violence left
us alone (oooh-ooh)
Ghost of the fathers,
ghost of the soil
Under the chapel, buried in toil
A supernatural hand in the dark
Texas remembers every mark (aaaaah)
An abandoned town of a century past
None of the wood was built to last But the cold regret
still hangs in the air
A spectral presence, a heavy stare
Ghost of the fathers,
ghost of the soil
Under the chapel, buried in toil
A supernatural hand in the dark
Texas remembers every mark
Two hundred years of a quiet scream A cold frontier,
an unholy dream
Austin remembers... The oldest violence...
(hush now)