landscape grown cold - john hartford lyrics
the trees standing naked
the ground underfoot
is a dark cellar, cool
the battleship skies
so heavy my shoulders droop
it’s a lean kind of day
that i sometimes p-ss through
the vines are like veins
on the old village wall
where the gr-ss turns to white
and way down the road
i see smoke from another world
in a room i’m not welcome
removed from my life
i sit in the ditch
and i dig in the sand
with the heel of my sole
sink down in my coat collar
back to the wind that blows
insane by myself
in a landscape grown cold
the painted tin sign
flaps back in the wind
where the green bottles lay
and a window of boards
facing hollow upon the dust
empty chairs sit in judgment
accusing the day
i sit in the ditch
and i dig in the sand
with the heel of my sole
sink down in my coat collar
back to the wind that blows
insane by myself
in a landscape grown cold
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