#131 BENEATH THAT LONELY ROW OF CORN
#131 BENEATH THAT LONELY ROW OF CORN
(Americana)
(DEMO)
(Full Arrangement)
White porcelain sink shows the mud and blood,
Both wash away as I clean the knives.
Strange how one night you're laughing, playing cards,
Then the next night you're ending lives.
Home early, noises from my bedroom
Just what to do, not really planned.
Climbed slowly up the stairs to greet them,
Sharp knife pointed down in each hand.
Return and listen to where I placed them,
First light, damp earth scuffed and torn.
Learn I hadn't yet erased them,
A whisper on the wind was born.
Beneath that lonely row of corn.
Late morning -- see Jack, two doors down,
Asks if we're up for next night card games.
Kept my smile tight and wide, said "Love to!"
"But she left early this morning for Ames."
Stayed polite, let him show me his garden,
Onion and cucumbers coming in new.
Cupped my ear by his twelve sweet-corn stalks,
Swore I could hear a whisper or two.
Another visit to where I placed them,
Earth now dry, but still scuffed and torn.
Find I haven't at all erased them,
Can't make out their words, but can feel their scorn.
Beneath that lonely row of corn.
Picked up my repaired clock from two towns over,
Drove back through fields of corn and fields of clover.
A sound started -- static buzz on the radio,
Radio off, sound remained and started to grow.
Pulled over, car engine off -- still a loud buzz remained.
Got out of my car, looked up in the sky for a plane.
Hissing words slithered straight out of the cornfield's mud,
Roar of whispers washed over me like a flood.
Need to get miles from where I placed them,
Flee that patch of earth still scuffed and torn.
Far worse than failing to erase them,
Thunderous whispers -- louder than any horn,
Rise out of those endless rows of corn.
Head bowed, standing by cornfields -- car on the side of road,
Sun fully set, west edge of the night sky faintly glowed.
Driven for hours, now exhausted -- needed a stop,
Whispers still roar as I smoke and look up at a hawk.
His head turns -- wonder what he sees as he takes in the scene,
Lone man on the run, tiny amidst oceans of green.