Green Corn

Green, green, green corn. Green, green, green corn.

Coming to terms with reconstruction.

No depression, no depression.

Like a scene from Dario Argento,

milk and honey, milk and honey,

in the deep, dank tarn.

Dig me up from the dirt in your mind and

we'll lie in the green grass and dead leaves,

and we'll let the bugs crawl on our skin.

Let me in, let me in, let me in.

Green, green, green corn. Green, green, green corn.

Got Cool Hand Luke's plastic Jesus.

Dissident, dissident.

Windmill still in the deep, dank tarn.

Dig me up from the dirt in your mind and

we'll lie in the green grass and dead leaves,

and we'll let the bugs crawl on our skin.

Let me in, let me in, let me in.