I used to could sing

A pristine Hallelujah.

It'd crawl over pretty, bowed, golden heads

To cleave to one heart.

Nowadays, it just cleaves

Two or three hearts right through,

And dies in the lonely love

And long-neck shards.

Ain't no stranger.

You know my trouble, Lord.

You might can raise the ghost,

But won't I turn him away from my door?

I ain't no stranger!

I ain't no stranger!

I used to could pine

For a fine apparition --

A soft lined face, a drawling grace,

Some sweet, deep-down ache.

These days I sit in contrition,

Sending up late-night petitions,

Scroll through my phone, trolling through the bones

Lying in my wake.

Ain't no stranger.

You know my trouble, Lord.

You might can raise the ghost,

But won't I turn him away from my door?

I ain't no stranger!

I ain't no stranger!

I used to could rage

In teenage piety.

Too young to mind, too scared to live,

Too dumb to die.

But right around twenty-three,

It was ripped out from inside of me,

Leaving me without a machine to break,

Or a tear to deny.

Ain't no stranger.

You know my trouble, Lord.

You might can raise the ghost,

But won't I turn him away from my door?

I ain't no stranger!

I ain't no stranger!