In the field of my estranged wife's eye   I see miles of corn wavering   as the breeze lifts and sighs   with resignation and complacency      she stares blankly at the horizon   there'll be no rain   she dashes my hope once more   brittle sticks of desperate effort for survival   the dreams and longings   we wished we hadn't sowed      and I know I'll never laugh again on a Sunday   I know I'll never dance again   the heaviness of the clouds reflects the condensation   inside of me, inside of me      I see the blur of rain on distant hillside   the clouds have passed us once more   the pools of disillusionment are swelling   the object of my desire I abhor      she lies waiting never to be united   withered life lies tattered like corn   bitter and torn   frustrated and forlorn