Scarecrow on a wooden cross blackbird in the barn Four hundred empty acres that used to be my farm I grew up like my daddy did my grandpa cleared this land When I was five I walked the fence while grandpa held my hand The crops we grew last summer werent enough to pay the loans Couldnt buy the seed to plant this spring and the farmers bank foreclosed Called my old friend Schepman up to auction off the land He said John its just my job and I hope you understand Hey calling it your job ol hoss sure dont make it right But if you want me to Ill say a prayer for your soul tonight And grandma's on the front porch swing with a Bible in her hand Sometimes I hear her singing take me to the promised land When you take away a mans dignity he cant work his fields and cows. Well theres ninety-seven crosses planted in the courthouse yard. Ninety-seven families who lost ninety-seven farms I think about my grandpa and my neighbors and my name And some nights I feel like dyin like that scarecrow in the rain. Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow This land fed a nation this land made me proud And son Im just sorry theyre just memories for you now. Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow ~John Mellencamp~ Just a little reminder that not all tragedies occur on foreign soil.