Glorytellers - You Ain't on Your Way to Hell

Lay the brush in the glovebox and drive
There’s a hush on the highway for days of nights
If you think you’re wrong just try
If you feel forlorn just cry

One last rose fixed to ribs with thread
Sears the snow with a single point of red
It’s your emblem etched in ice with tires
Suddenly your mountains start with fires

Every Tuesday at the ward you prayed
All the prayers you can afford a single day
But there’s something you have to tell
Mother you ain’t on your way to hell

Graying curls collect each day in the drain
Chelsea girl R&R to feel the pain
Don’t you dare turn it down
A mean old doctor will surely come around