Field of Grass Songtext
von Ian North

A field of grass sailed out of Guinea, heads lolling in the sun
A seed moved on the sea
Pale gold and green on the wide blue wave
Dipping wildly in the high storms
A month′s passage to Charleston

"A miracle", said the vague reports of agents
A plague of frogs in reverse
To see the land lifted from its native rocks
Splashed down in the Atlantic
No ropes or anchors could hold the weight over the horizon
The swish of wind and wheat, lost in the ocean's crash and a morning wail

Had a hard passage, saltwater crusting the roots
Wind flattening the stalks
Heath scattered to the unsupporting wave
The whisper of leaves became a cry
"All this way, through the betrayal of the earth, for what?
Only for the harvest"


Act of the jealous god
A cruel whim, a wagering jest
I′d say it's poker night
But could the will of man lift whole sections
Root and sod like a tornado
And crash them down on old Jed's barn?

And finding plenty, the scythe cuts down a hundred bending heads in a pass
Laying the bodies parallel in sheaves
Prop them up as if alive
To represent life in our tales
Amidst the vegetal slaves and their thousands
Because we feel at the mercy of the gods
Here are their graves, where the roots reach down into the solid earth again
Through a bitter winter, the wind tears at the grass
Grey rippling the white sea, looking for the green ocean it flew across the world

By next spring, more of us will lie in a field like this
Who fed on the bread of the last harvest
We claim to control the weather
Some for credit, some for blame
The waves don′t tell the wind to blow
The wind blows over them
Refusing old miracles
Pulled anew to its chest