C'mon kind Sir let's walk outside. And breathe the autumn air. See the many that have lived and died. See the unending golden stair. See all of us that have come behind. Clutching at your hem. All the way from Arkansas. To your sweet and last amen. Let the bells ring. He is the real thing. Let the bells ring. He is the real real thing. Take this deafening thunder down. Take this bread and take this wine. Your passing is not what we mourn. But the world you left behind. Well do not breathe nor make a sound. And behold your mighty work. That towers over the uncaring ground. Of a lesser darker world. Let the bells ring. He is the real thing. Let the bells ring. He is the real real thing. There are those of us not fit to tie. The laces of your shoes. Must remain behind to testify. Through an elementary blues. So let's walk outside the hour is late. Through your crumbs and scattered shells. Where the awed and the mediocre wait. Barely fit to ring the bells. Let the bells ring. He is the real thing. Let the bells ring. He is the real real thing