Take my body to Seven-Mile Island
Lay my head down where Indians sleep
Take your shoes off and walk across the water
It's been so long since I heard a man speak

Watch the spillways when the water starts rising
Take your hat off when the sun goes down
Keep your eyes on that concrete tower
Maybe one day it will crumble to the ground

Mary's crying 'cause she can't hold water
And her clothes don't fit her right
She used to say that she wanted a daughter
Now she only wants a Saturday night

There were days when that dusty cave was empty
Back before this city made a claim
On that hotel for wanderers and strangers
Back before you could live off of your name

We all live in an Airstream trailer
About three-hundred yards up the lake
Call the doctor, Mary's going into labor
And you can't raise a baby on shake

So take my body to Seven-Mile Island
Lay some stones down on top of my grave
Tell my lady that I just couldn't bear to see her
Tell my daughter I just couldn't be saved
Just couldn't be saved
Couldn't be