A band plays loud and proud in the wake of terror’s frightful tune
The maniac berserks the stage with skill and savvy; love and rage
Passed on for generations now - the few, the proud, the brave, the plow
What cost us this…the lost…the few…the demon plays it all for you
Winds his victims in this dance and wraps that fiddle down your pants
Feet and flailing, hands in air, clapping madly, gladly, stare.
Pull your bow and play the line, just tell me it will all be fine.
If ever we needed Johnny back…right now would be the time.
And so this madman on the stage begins his fiery fiddle tale…
The devil struck a note and said…”well you are pretty good ol’ son
But all the things your country’s made of…it’s over and it’s done.”
Johnny pulled the bow string hard to play the devil back to hell.
But not one sound escaped his strings and in tears he sadly fell.
Looked up with righteous indignity at the devil’s painted grin.
Its’ not supposed to be like this…Johnny’s supposed to win.