John Dreck's Body

John Dreck's body's moldrin in the cornfield

picking up the radio and feedin all the corn

corn's growin crooked bendin over reekin

feedin up the people when they buy it at the store

John Dreck's body's stinkin like a tree

fragments of his memory seeping upward from his grave

Callin for the friendly hopin for a patron

Fillin up the orchards with remembrance of his pain

John Dreck's body's rottin in a cornfield

Straining at the peephole that's afforded by the corn

Years passin slowly Situation hazy

Down there in the darkness where it's hard to know the score

Poor John Dreck he never gets a visitor

Lonely grave is lonely it's machines that tend the corn

Callin to the faithful hopin for a neighbor

A stimulating lady who could help and keep him warm