Dry - William Elliott Whitmore

Well the song of the blackbird is mighty clear

On a mornin' such as this

And all those useless pains & fears

Those things that I won’t miss

And the Morning Glories and Queen Anne’s lace

Baptized by the wind

These inspirations are my saving grace

In these times we’re living in

Make a hard man humble

Make a proud woman hide

Her eyes from the light of day

When all the crops have withered and died

And the soil has blown away

The ground is so dry

The river’s on its hands and knees

And I hear that tune in the breeze

The crow is callin' and I hear him well

Up in the red bud tree

Any the stories that you’ve lived to tell

Pass 'em down to me

Whisper the truth

Into your childrens ears

Let them know

Let them understand

Let them hear

The song of the blackbird is mighty loud

Through the evening mist

The moon is up and it looks so proud

Lookin' down on a night, on a night like this