Notched logs, board sealed, cold enough to crack my eyeballs Remnants of the past are hanging from the ceiling and peeling off the walls Sulfurs heavy in the air and now the clouds are on the move I'm searching for the cracks in the vinyl just trying to find the grooves 'Cause they were true to the vine Like cicadas singing to the night Long gone sounds out of sight True to the vine Up and down the fenceline the grass is overgrown From the kitchen to the parlor to the back porch Their making Stellas sound like gold Tapes were running unawares and now the boys are chiming in Sound is drifting through the transom, I can feel that hickory wind again 'Cause they were true to the vine Like cicadas singing to the night Long gone sounds Out of sight True to the vine True to the vine Like cicadas singing to the night Long gone sounds Out of sight True to the vine