My friendly skies have left me dry again;
A cloud or two would do, but no such luck.
Upon a chance of rain I must depend.
My end would come if rainless lightning struck.
Forever it seems the wise farmer waits,
The thoughts I had of him fading from mind.
Crabgrass and broadleaf, with seducing traits,
Completely overrun me ‘til I’m blind.
These fellows make me think this is the life!
I’m under their protection. So secure
In this illusion, hidden from all strife.
But do impostors like these have the cure?
One drop is all I need, Lord, all I need.
Why stand by while withering souls still bleed?