Five cans of paint in the empty fields
|
The dust reveals
|
|
The children cry, the work never ends
|
There¡¯s not a single friend
|
|
Who will hold her hand in the sunken lands?
|
|
The mud and tears melt the cotton balls
|
It¡¯s a heavy toll
|
Oh oh
|
|
His words are cruel and they sting like fire
|
Like the devil¡¯s choir
|
Oh oh
|
|
But who will hold her hand in the sunken lands?
|
|
The river rises and she sails away
|
But she could never stay
|
Oh oh
|
|
Now her work is done in the sunken lands
|
There¡¯s five empty cans
|
|
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|
The Sunken Lands
|
| Rosanne Cash |
