9 acessos
Oh, my anacostia
Do not sigh, do not weep
Beneath the overpass
Your saviour’s waiting patiently
Walking on the water
That flow with poisons
From the naval yard
He’s talking to the fallen reeds
What will become of us?
A small, red sun makes way for night
Trails away like a tail light
Is that Jesus on the water
Talking to the fallen trees?
What will become of us?