Verse one:
The trees are winded
There’re no leaf left to turn
My wounds are mended
But I can’t understand how you got money left to burn
Verse two:
The wheat fields are blowing
Like the hair on my father’s arm
That he’s got hooked out the window
Of our big red suburban middle class American car
Verse three:
Tornados are back again
And the weather feels so alone
Outside it’s American
And there’s a mocking bird that sounds just like my telephone