Last Olive

Marry me at the pulpit 
Bury me with an olive pit 
It’s the summer of 1960
Let’s dive into the Mississippi 

I found you in the pages
I took a road through the greenery 
And in the spring of 1963
Let’s make a call to Jack Kennedy 

Tonight we’ll hang in Iowa Iowa
Tonight we’ll hang in Iowa 
Where your drink is on me
And we can hang your PhD 
It’s the summer of nineteen
The summer 1960

Im so tired of my clothes 
With the sins and the stains on their sleeves 
I’ll wash them clean in the Mississippi 
With the soot and the dirt and debris

I looked you up in the yellow book
I took a puff of an American breeze 
How lucky is anybody?
It’s the summer of 1960!

Tonight we’ll hang in Iowa Iowa
Tonight we’ll hang in Iowa 
Where your drink is on me
And we can hang your PhD
It’s the summer of nineteen
The summer of 1960

Don’t wait 
Wait for me
I’m a seed
In a pocket… in a pocket 

~ ~ ~