Flatlands
Well I grew up down in the flatlands
Son of a hardworking man
Who says "It's not how much you make, boy, that makes you a man
When you're doing the best that you can."

He owned 80 acres of good land
Fruit of his hard work and years
Remember him still, no pride, just sheer will
Saying "Boys, life will be good and bad

"This world is cold, with time you'll grow old
Well I hope you will all understand."

I could hear sad notes in the kitchen
As if it were still yesterday
He would play and would sing about the trials life brings
And in time I'd be doing the same

And across the field at the auction house
You can hear the calves call in the night
Somewhere out there sits an old empty bar
No equipment or livestock in sight
And the years they show on my face
Time travels still through closed doors
And it breaks my heart to be back again
You can't drink from the wells in the flatlands no more
You can't drink from the wells in the flatlands no more