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We hang our hope with the clothes on the line
the corn leaves reach to the ground
the horses beat the first of the dust
with their hooves in the grooves
from the wagon wheels round

The wind stirs the fields the earth shakes loose
the horizon’s a blurry line the dust
seeps in through the cracks in the windows
to where the children sit restless inside

I’m sorry we’re losin’ the Oklahoma Lottery
we’re prayin’ on our knees
there’s no work to be done
until the rain starts to fall
so you pack up your old jalopy

Mama said the preacher man is way out of line
askin’ for the rain to fall
she said if God had meant to
he wouldn’t forget
and so it ain’t our business at all

But papa said if God cared a little bit about us
then he wouldn’t have left us to die
he ties a kerchief round his face
puts his goggles on his eyes
kicks the door and stalks outside

You got some friends who say they’re workin’ out in California
so you pack up everything you can hold with some vague hope
but you know you left your soul with the corn back in Oklahoma •

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