Heavy sky, harvest sun
Turns the tallgrass brown
This countryside is unyielding
Crops wilted to the ground
Stubborn plow bringing bliters
On rough and calloused hands
He wipes the hot sweat from his brow,
The cultivator man.
The house is dusty, there is no water
No pot above the hearth
The sun creeps closer down the heavens
Mounting hate inside his heart.
He takes the rifle from the closet
Turns it over in his hands
Only one slug in the chamber
For the cultivator man
The sunset is a wildfire
Burning shadows on the floor
Tax man comin' up the drive
Now he's rappin' at the door
The old man takes his last breath
As the bullet leaves the bore.

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