Rain falls on the paramedics but they do not go inside
The street is where it all went down, the street is where he lies
The mother in her universe feels nothing but the pain
The son who was a baby but who will never be a man

So we pray to the God of Broken Class
We pray to the God of Gunfire and Regret
We pray to the God of Collateral Children
We pray to them all, the eight Gods of Harlem

Son was on his best behavior, shit was on his shoes
Blood was on the handlebars, nothing on the news
No one saw it coming, no one was to blame
Daddy's got a broken heart, he'll never be the same

So we pray to the God of Old Illusions
We pray to the God of Wasted Chances
We pray to the God of Dreams and Roses
We pray to them all, the eight Gods of Harlem

A girl falls down in hysterics
Is she laughing? Is she crying? Is she living? Is he dying?
Undone
Who raise the glasses higher
Sulfur from the underground
Erosion, scalding steam
Her brother in a picture frame
And someone starts to scream

So we pray to the God of Washed Out Paper Broken Hearts
We pray to the God, the last chance is for rage and vengeance
We pray to the God, beat the drum slowly, neatly folded up and hidden Old Glory
We pray to them all, the eight Gods of Harlem Writer/s: ELVIS COSTELLO, KRIS KRISTOFFERSON, ROSANNE CASH
Publisher: BMG Rights Management, CONCORD MUSIC PUBLISHING LLC, Downtown Music Publishing, Hipgnosis Songs Group
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