Woorden: Trisha Yearwood. Heaven, Heartache, and the Power of Love. Dreaming Fields.

Oh, the sun rolls down big as a miracle
And fades from the Midwest sky
And the corn and the trees wave in the breeze
As if to say goodbye

Oh my grandfather stood right here
As an younger man in 19 an' 43
And with his sweat and his tears, the rain and the years
He grew life from a solemn seed

Oh, I'm going down to the dreaming fields
But what will be my harvest now?
Where every tear that falls on a memory feels
Like rain on a rusted plow, rain on a rusted plow

And these fields they dream of wheat in the summer time
Grand children running free
And the bails of hay at the end of the day
And the scare crow that just scared me

Now the houses they grow like weeds in a flower bed
This morning the [Incomprehensible]
Seems the only way a man can live off a land
These days is to buy and sell

So I'm going down to the dreaming fields
But what will be my harvest now?
Where every tear that falls on a memory feels
Like rain on a rusted plow, rain on a rusted plow

Like the rain on a roof on a porch by the kitchen
Where my grandmother sings, I can hear if I listen
Running down, running down to the end of the water low
This will be my harvest now

And the sun rolls down big as a miracle
And fades from the Midwest sky
And the corn and the trees wave in the breeze
As if to say goodbye
As if to say goodbye