Rabbit Hill

Up on Rabbit Hill, the band is playing loud.

Banjos and harmonicas, and a crowd all gathered ‘round.

Alice, barely sleeping. The hollering shook her awake.

The townies are all dancing at the cabaret.

Pick it up, pick it up, forest.

Saved by the rolling chorus.

Straw in the jaw, she heard the choir of angels call.

Pick it up, pick it up, til’ sundown.

Whistling for the hounds.

Howling their songs toward gemini.

Does it keep you high? Does it keep you high?

Stumbles out her window, pulls on a pair of boots.

The dust inside her lungs has gone and turned this woman loose.

A hickory stick, hobblin’ up the gravel road.

Smokin’ from her chimney, there’s fire between her toes.

Pick it up, pick it up, forest.

Saved by the rolling chorus.

Straw in the jaw, she heard the choir of angels call.

Pick it up, pick it up, til’ sundown.

Whistling for the hounds.

Howling their songs toward gemini.

Does it keep you high? Does it keep you high?

Alice caught an echo. An Appalachian stray.

She’s searching for fruition in the seeds of the USA.

All of San Francisco burnt up a hole in you.

Hole in your pocket, hole in the ceiling.

Faith alone wasn’t much for healing.

Pick it up, pick it up, forest.

Saved by the rolling chorus.

Straw in the jaw, she heard the choir of angels call.

Pick it up, pick it up, til’ sundown.

Whistling for the hounds.

Howling their songs toward gemini.

Does it keep you high? Does it keep you high?

Does it keep you high?