The Last Great American Man Lyrics - The Whiskey Saints

Sitting on the brink of an indescribable fall 

I could be heading back but there's no room left to crawl 

Waiting on the name of the last great American hymn 

While people are amazed by the television glaring at them 

Counting on the deaths of the terrifying faithless men 

Eden had its shame but still it found a way to stay clean 

Had the fancy fees to pay its miracle machinery 

But The City is our home and the noise just followed along 

With the dreams we had awake to a fraction of its glorious song 

With a book about the plans for the last great American band 

The people of this nation will protest, they need to be mad 

Still bitter from some lover and the finer things that they never had 

I knew it was a waste but wasted is all they show 

Shouting on a whim because there's no one left who knows 

We're mourning from the death of the last great American man