Scarecrow on the wooden cross,Blackbird in the barn. 400 empty acres, that use to be my farm. Grew up like my Daddy did, my Grandpa cleared this land. When I was five I walked a fence while Grandpa held my hand. Crops we grew last summer, weren't enough to pay the loan. Couldn't buy the seeds to plant this spring. So the farmers bank foreclosed. Called my old friend up to auction off the land. Said it's just my job, I hope you understand. Calling it your job ol boy sure don't make it right. If you want me too, I'll say a prayer for your soul tonight.