Raising the Dead (Live at the Roundhouse)

Your old man's in the kitchen
He's a smile short of laughing
And the radio's a-beaming
From the stars that are coughing up
The change in his pockets
And the shrug in his shoulders
And the glove from his fingers
And the love that I hold for him
Oh oh, raising the dead, raising the dead
Raising the dead
Oh oh, raising the dead, raising the dead
Raising the dead
And those old songs are twitching
With the knees that are pitching
And the fair world's a-grinning
And the old [audit's?] spinning
To the place where he lived
And the room that he died in
There's a new song playing on the radio that night
Oh oh, raising the dead, raising the dead
Raising the dead
Oh oh, raising the dead, raising the dead
Raising the dead
He operates on a oath preconceived
To take down the pillars of our society
Walking out of sadness, walking out of grief
Walking out of gladness and walking like a thief
Oh oh, raising the dead, raising the dead
Raising the dead
Oh oh, raising the dead, raising the dead
Raising the dead
I collaborate with spirit
I helped it find its way back to me
Where I've [?] with myself on my way
On my way to the old man in the kitchen on my way
To the [?]broken-hearted people who all who say
Oh oh, raising the dead, raising the dead
Raising the dead
Oh oh, raising the dead, raising the dead
Raising the dead
Oh oh, raising the dead, raising the dead
Raising the dead
Oh oh, raising the dead, raising the dead
Raising the dead