Death Of The American Song

Down in the valley
 Where the Red River flows
 Standing at a graveside
 By the bramble and the rose
 We've come to bid a fond farewell
 In this our darkest hour
 We've gone and neglected
 Our pale wildwood flower
 So beat the drum slowly as they carry her away
 Wrapped in white linen as cold as the clay
 I see Tammy and Patsy with their long black dresses on
 Mourning the death of the American song
 Songs that haunt our memories
 Sung on porches long ago
 All that's left of them today
 Are footprints in the snow
 I'm waiting at the station
 But I fear I wait in vain
 'Cause Old 97
 Is rusting in the rain
 The radio is playing
 Got the latest top ten on
 The kind you hear today
 That you know tomorrow will be gone
 I see those painted faces
 They are smiling on TV
 And I find that they're all
 Rank strangers to me