Backslider

I’m a poor backslider, in the pit of sin
Every time I try to get out, I just slip back in again
Come savior save me, take hold of my hand
Please don’t let me slip back into that pit again

The preacher told me hope was never gone
So next sunday morning, I put my white shirt on
Combed my hair with water, put the family in the car
Dropped them off at the church, and then went on to the bar

Well Audrey’s left me, and she took the kids
I miss them children, I’m sorry for what I did
When I get to drinkin’ I lose control
When you lose your family it’s like you’ve lost your soul

And now the mill is closin’; I’m on shifting sand
I just sit alone in my trailer, and wring my hands
No children’s voices, no woman’s touch
Just this empty whiskey bottle, some shotgun shells and such

Should not have let that woman get me so annoyed
Should not have yelled at my girl, should never have struck my boy
Shouldn’t have took off runnin’, like a turkey through the corn
Shouldn’t have bought this gun, should never have been born

I’m a poor backslider, in the pit of sin
Every time I try to get out, I just slip back in again

Greg Brown, Poor Backslider

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