words and music by amy ray

The volunteers come for your prayers
and some souvenirs,
With ivory skin and boycott lessons
Year after year

Well I'm tracing your face up in the space of the bottom bunk,
Oh Cordova
Where I cried and I cried,
I knew I was trading on things that I didn't have,
The things that I didn't have

Now you come to me
With revolution's infidelity,
With blacklisted friends and tupperware kin,
And your big history

Well I'm tracing your face up in the space of the bottom bunk,
Oh Cordova
Where I cried and I cried,
I knew I was trading on things that I didn't have,
The things that I didn't have

I memorize the lullabies
of dwindling lives
The lay of the land, the touch of each hand
We lose by and by

I'm tracing your face up in the space of the bottom bunk,
Oh Cordova
Where I cried and I cried,
I knew I was trading on things that I didn't have,
The things that I didn't have