Darlin, we're the last of the prairie gentlemen. The kings of open skies. Born a hundred years after our time. I know you're thinking about leaving, I can see it in your eyes, how you dream of bigger cities, warmer climes. How these days, your prairie home seems too short in the sleeves, and you're yearning for the glitz of city streets. But I know you know I've loved you since we were just seventeen, so fuck Toronto, fuck Vancouver - stay with me.
Well the days are getting shorter and they're bringing in the wheat, and sure as death and taxes, what you sow is what you'll reap, so I'll keep you warm through the winter - will you be my harvest queen? 'Cause deep down, you know who loves you, and where they'll be.
Darlin', we're the last of the prairie gentlemen. Without the practiced smiles, the mirror muscles and pickup lines. And there's nothing that I want that can ever be bought, although so much of the sacred has been sold. Well, I guess that some of us just learn real slow.
I've searched from La Ronge down to Lipton, Halifax to Calgary, as I pull on that red wool coat my grandfather passed down to me. I keep on hoping for some magic from all those years of rosaries, 'til then I'll keep on moving forward 'til my chin gives out on me.
from oil sands
released August 4, 2016
all rights reserved