And fades from the midwest sky
And the corn and the trees
Oh, my grandfather stood right here
And with the sweat and his tears,
he grew life from the soil and seed.
but what will be my harvest now?
Where every tear that falls
like rain on the rusted plow
And these fields they dream of
Grandchildren running free
And the scarecrow that just scared me
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
But what will be my harvest now
Where every tear that falls
Like rain on the rusted plow,
Like the rain on the roof,
where my grandmother sings,
I can hear if I listen, running down,
running down to the end of the world.
My love, this will be my harvest
And the sun rolls down, big as a miracle
And fades from the midwest sky
And the corn and the trees