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THE CORNFIELD

This song came out in one sitting at the piano with a mic set up.  Must have been time to harvest it.  It's a lot about growing up, the values we choose to keep and those we lose along the way.  More honest than I care to admit...

THE CORNFIELD
Words & Music: David C.Day
(c)(p) D.Day, 2007. All rights reserved.

Lately I remember
Back when I'm nine years old
While others got their schooling
From the world
My father, the endless worker
Took my hand and my brother too
And he led us to the cornfield
To learn
And my lesson was how to plant it
My lesson how to plough
Those hands - so strong, so gentle
Showed me how

Back then we were growing
We were running with the wind
Take our bikes down the old abandoned railway
Right to the end
And we stood up like blood brothers
Standing the best we could
And we dig there for hidden treasure in that cornfield
In the mud
My lesson was endless summer
And how boys grow up so fast
How the treasure we hid down there
Is gonna last

She came down and it was high noon
She was dancing in the sun
And she taught me to abandon all I'd learned
She thrilled my heart with danger
She filled my eyes with smile
And she took me in that cornfield
My oh my
My lesson was in her loving
And leaving me in the dust
How the warm winds of summer change direction
And blow so cold

How he lingered, like a winter
How he dangled by a thread
And then he nodded, said I'm done with this
And rest' his head
And that doctor who attended
He just stood there and bowed his head
My eyes filled with angry laughter
And I just fled
I ran back to that cornfield
And my acre is six feet high
But all I can see are broken stems
Along the wayside

I laboured through the winter
In the city miles away
Where people just seem to beat people every day
But what I keep I carry with me
And I have near me when I pray
In my heart I'll carry that cornfield
To my dieing day
My lesson was how to plant it
My lesson how to plough
Those hand - so large so gentle
Seem certain now
'Cause there's houses in my cornfield
And folk who know not nor even care
About grain, or the ways of farmers
Who once raised a harvest there