Intro: Pictures of the farm before us Old men in a gospel Chorus Sepia and saddle horses Easy on the reins Eighty-one, a motor-inn Your momma's seventeen again She's squinting at at the dusty wind The anger of the plains You and i were almost nothing Pray to God the gods were bluffing Seventeen ain't old enough to reason with the pain How could we expect the two to stay in love, When neither knew the meaning of The difference between sacred and profane? I was riding on my mother's hip She was shorter than the corn And all the years I took from her Just by being born I didn't mean to break the cycle At seventeen, I went by Michael No one ever called me by my own name anyway Five full generations living All these expectations giving way to one So late to have a baby on the way You were riding on your mother's hip She was shorter than the corn And all the years you took from her Just by being born Outro: (repeat)
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