Children of Children

Pictures of the farm before us

Old men in a gospel chorus

Sephia and saddle horses

Easy on the reins

'81 a motor in

Your mama's seventeen again

She's squinting at the dusty wind

The anger of the plains

You and I were almost nothing

Pray to God that God was bluffing

Seventeen ain't old enough to reason with the pain

How could we expect 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

All the years I took from her, just by being born

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

Late to have a baby on the way

You were riding on your mother's hip, she was shorter than the corn

All the years you took from her, just by being born