Notched logs, board sealed, cold enough to crack my eyeballs
Remnants of the past are hanging from the ceiling and peeling off the walls
Sulfurs heavy in the air and now the clouds are on the move
I'm searching for the cracks in the vinyl just trying to find the grooves
‘Cause they were true to the vine
Like cicadas singing to the night
Long gone sounds out of sight
True to the vine
Up and down the fenceline the grass is overgrown
From the kitchen to the parlor to the back porch
Their making Stellas sound like gold
Tapes were running unawares and now the boys are chiming in
Sound is drifting through the transom, I can feel that hickory wind again
‘Cause they were true to the vine
Like cicadas singing to the night
Long gone sounds
Out of sight
True to the vine
True to the vine
Like cicadas singing to the night
Long gone sounds
Out of sight
True to the vine

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