Lyrics: Robert Hunter
Music: David Gans
A new (2004) Hunter/Gans collaboration.
The day the constitution became a metaphor
I was laying tile on my lady's kitchen floor
A lot of troubled thoughts ran through my mind
But I kept laying tile in the same straight line
Where were you the eleventh of November?
I was in the bathtub sleeping off a bender
A double shot of hell and freedom in a blender
How can I forget what I really can't remember?
The trumpets of the ocean howl, let them roar
Let them wail, let them soar
Thunder in the belly of the whale never more
The day that Elvis died I was driving in my ride
A friend in a Ford waved me over to the side
Said "I just heard the news on the radio"
I said "are you sure?" she said "I don't know"
Walk a crooked mile, hell, you might as well walk ten
Meet your old self coming round the corner of a bend
Nothing new here, why should we pretend?
The trumpets of the ocean in a broken-hearted blend
The trumpets in the midnight, trumpets in the dawn
Trumpets of the queen's rook, trumpets of the pawn
Trumpets in the stratosphere, trumpets of the rock
The trumpets of the sky boat, sailing into dock
Trumpets of the backbone, trumpets in the air
Trumpets of the black lace ribbon in your hair
The trumpets in the undertow rock you off to sleep
We'll fall in love tomorrow, Juanita, don't you weep
The trumpets of the ocean howl, let them roar
Let them wail, let them soar
Thunder in the belly of the whale never more