Well, I kept pennies and dollars and diamonds

Stitched in the mattress of mine

Trusted the worth of a woman

Who married a bottle of wine

She fell from the grace of her bottle

Drunk off the riches she stole

Into the shadows she scurried

With emptiness keeping her whole

Raymond’s writing a novel

Into the stories of old

Only a memory, only in mind

Searching for the gold

I put all my strength to the pedal

Ran from the weight of my past

Married by Grace in New England

Lived in the love we amassed

While Graceless was counting her pennies

Her bottle was waiting to strike

Betraying the chance of redemption

it whittled itself to a knife

Raymond’s writing a novel

Into the stories of old

Only a memory, only in mind

Searching for the gold

I’d rather have grace than be graceless

I’d rather have faith than be faithless

The Northlands were kind to the speaker

A place he could wonder and wed

He soon lost the name of the stealer

Who took all the gold from his bed

While Graceless was dancing with anger

Her bottle was taking a note

Jealousy kindly awaits her

And it soon made way for her throat

Raymond’s writing a novel

Into the stories of old

Only a memory, only in mind

Searching for the gold

Said, I’d rather have grace than be graceless

I’d rather have faith than be faithless

I’d rather have grace than be graceless

I’d rather have faith than be faithless