The Dreaming Fields

Oh, the sun rolls down, big as a miracle
 And fades from the Midwest sky
 And the corn and the trees wave in the breeze
 As if to say goodbye
 Oh, my grandfather stood right here as a younger man
 In nineteen and forty three
 And with the sweat and his tears, the rain and the years
 He grew life from the soil and seed, oh
 I'm going down to the dreaming fields
 But what will be my harvest now
 Where every tear that falls on a memory
 Feels like rain on the rusted plow, rain on the rusted plow
 And these fields they dream of wheat in the summertime
 Grandchildren running free
 And the bales of hay at the end of the day
 And the scarecrow that just scared me
 Now the houses, they grow like weeds in a flower bed
 This morning the silo fell
 Seems the only way a man can live off the land these days
 Is to buy and sell, so
 I'm going down to the dreaming fields
 But what will be my harvest now
 Where every tear that falls on a memory
 Feels like rain on the rusted plow, rain on the rusted plow
 Like the rain on the roof on the porch by the kitchen
 Where my grandmother sings, I can hear if I listen
 Running down, running down to the end of the world I loved
 This will be my harvest now
 And the sun rolls down, big as miracle
 And fades in the Midwest sky
 And the corn and the trees wave in the breeze
 As if to say goodbye, as if to say goodbye