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Sundown in the Paris of the prairie |
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Wheat kings have all treasures buried |
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And all you hear are the rusty breezes |
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Pushing around the weather vane Jesus |
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In his Zippo lighter, he sees the killer's face |
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Maybe it's someone standing in a killer's place |
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Twenty years for nothing, well that's nothing new |
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Besides, no one's interested in something you didn't do |
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Wheat kings and pretty things |
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Let's just see what the morning brings |
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There's a dream he dreams where the high school is dead and stark |
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It's a museum and we're all locked up in it after dark |
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Where the walls are lined all yellow, gray and sinister |
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Hung with pictures of our parents' prime ministers |
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Wheat kings and pretty things |
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Wait and see what tomorrow brings |
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Late breaking story on the CBC |
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A nation whispers, "We always knew that he'd go free" |
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They add, "You can't be fond of living in the past |
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'Cause if you are then there's no way that you're gonna last" |
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Wheat kings and pretty things |
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Let's just see what tomorrow brings |
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Wheat kings and pretty things |
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Oh, that's what tomorrow brings |
