In the summer of ‘56
your grandpa built that place in the sticks,
and your father tells the story
of that rope swing at the quarry

How he tied it up
the day he fell in love
He could climb the tallest tree
He was the man of your mother's dreams

In the summer of ‘87
your brother went to heaven
He drowned down in the quarry
At least that was your parent's story

Well no one goes to that old quarry anymore
because your brother's ghost drank it dry straight to the floor
saying, “As sure as rain, as sure as sin, as sure as we fall down
no one will die, no one will drown no not in my town”

Up until the day we left
your father's dreams were plagued by death
You could hear him in the darkness crying,
humming, drinking, and lullabying

On the day we hopped that train
your father went to the quarry again,
and he climbed himself the tallest tree
and wrapped his neck in that old rope swing

And he was swaying
And he was singing
Son I'm coming,
in just one more swing

Well the rope went taught and then it snapped His body fell down
Through swollen cheeks, over purple tongue, water poured out
He said, “Son I will, I swear I'll fill this quarry back up
because each drop you drank in death I used in life to fill my cup”

About as sure as rain, about as sure as sin, about as sure as we fall down,
that quarry filled straight to the brim, straight from his mouth

And he was swaying
And he was singing

As sure as rain will come with wind,
As sure as love will conquer sin,
son I am coming