Five cans of paint in the empty fields
The dust reveals
The children cry, the work never ends
There’s not a single friend
Who will hold her hand in the sunken lands?
The mud and tears melt the cotton balls
It’s a heavy toll
His words are cruel and they sting like fire
Like the devil’s choir
But who will hold her hand in the sunken lands?
The river rises and she sails away
But she could never stay
Now her work is done in the sunken lands
There’s five empty cans