'Cause people let me tell you
It sent a chill up and down my spine When I picked up the telephone
And heard that he'd died out on the mainline
Powderfinger
Look out mama, there's a white boat comin' up the river
With a big red beacon and a flag and a man on the rail I think you better call John
'Cause it don't look like they're here to deliver the mail
Broken colors, broken saws
Broken buckles, broken laws
Broken bodies, broken bones
Broken voices, on broken phones
Take a deep breath, feel like you're chokin'
Hey, everythin' is broken
Maggie comes fleet foot, face full of black soot
Talkin' that the heat put plants in the bed book
The phone's tapped anyway, Maggie says, "The man, he say
They must bust in early May, orders from the D.A."