Regiments of stoby poles, Rabbits and erosion holes All bare beneath the sky. To the untrained eye this land is dry, There's no waterholes in sight. There are songs here, No more geographic lies. We just have to find them And we'll never compromise. Are sung in clubs and community centers And everybody's singing their own tune. Got the call yesterday and we left straight away, A long way for a funeral. I saw the souls of all of us In the blue leaves and red dust And the heat is their embrace. No more songs of tallahassee and nashville. We got music right outside the windowsill. I can feel it when i roam In the pubs and the nursing homes. I can feel it coming down the wires.