
Gospel of the Blood-Red Flame
Gospel of the Blood-Red Flame (Verse 1) Whiskey river, blood-red dawn, Feet of lead and a heart of stone, Preacher’s daughter with a six-shooter grin, Danced with the devil ‘neath a lonesome tin. *Her shadow whispered, “Son, come ride with me— The road’s a altar, and hell’s where we preach!” (Chorus) Oh, we’re a-burning through the night, a-burning through the pain, Chains of sin on a gospel train, Howlin’ at the harvest moon, howlin’ for the flame, We’re the lost and the lovers, lost and the lame— Raise your glass to the blood-red name! [Gang vocals: “Blood-red! Blood-red!”] (Verse 2) Juke joint thunder, fiddle’s cry, Steel guitar weepin’ as the old hymns die, I sold my shadow for a line of flame, Now I walk this地狱’s road with a hallelujah name. The bottle preaches, the neon lights bleed, Ain’t no heaven for the wicked… just the need. (Chorus) Oh, we’re a-burning through the night, a-burning through the pain, Chains of sin on a gospel train, Howlin’ at the harvest moon, howlin’ for the flame, We’re the lost and the lovers, lost and the lame— Raise your glass to the blood-red name! [Gang vocals: “Blood-red! Blood-red!”] (Bridge) So stomp your boots, let the shackles sing, The midnight choir’s a-comin’ in, With a noose of stars and a thief’s tight grip, We’ll march this apocalypse to the brink of the hill. [Instruments climax: chains rattle, handclaps erupt, fiddle screeches.] [Breakdown – Spoken, then sung] “You think you’re saved? You think you’re clean? *Look in the mirror… he’s the sinner in the sin.” Steel slide wails. (Final Chorus) Now we’re a-burning through the night, a-burning through the pain, Chains of sin on a gospel train, Howlin’ at the harvest moon, howlin’ for the flame, We’re the lost and the lovers, lost and the lame— We’ll drown in the wine of the serpent’s shame! [Gang vocals crescendo: “Shame! Shame! BLOOD-RED NAME!”] (Outro – Whispered, then screamed) And when the last note fades and the final shot’s been fired, We’ll drown in the wine of the serpent’s fire, With a twang in our throats and a curse in our praise, We’re the ghost-lit saints in a midnight jude’s embrace— Amen to the dark, amen to the blaze! (Drums collapse. A single fiddle moans.)

