Bruised Orange (Chain of Sorrow) - John Prine

My heart’s in the ice house come hill or come valley

Like a long ago sunday when I walked through the alley

On a cold winter’s morning to a church house

Just to shovel some snow.

I heard sirens on the train track howl naked gettin’nuder,

An altar boy’s been hit by a local commuter

Just from walking with his back turned

To the train that was coming so slow.

You can gaze out the window get mad and get madder,

Throw your hands in the air, say «what does it matter?»

But it don’t do no good to get angry,

So help me I know

For a heart strained in anger grows weak and grows bitter.

You become your own prisoner as you watch yourself sit there

Wrapped up in a trap of your very own

Chain of sorrow.

I been brought down to zero, pulled out and put back there.

I sat on a park bench, kissed the girl with black hair

And my head shouted down to my heart

«you better look out below!»

Hey, it ain’t such a long drop don’t stammer don’t stutter

From the diamonds in the sidewalk to the dirt in the gutter

And you carry those bruises to remind you wherever you go.

You can gaze out the window get mad and get madder,

Throw your hands in the air, say «what does it matter?»

But it don’t do no good to get angry,

So help me I know

For a heart strained in anger grows weak and grows bitter.

You become your own prisoner as you watch yourself sit there

Wrapped up in a trap of your very own

Chain of sorrow