Sundown in the Paris
Of the prairies
Wheat kings
Have all their treasures buried
And all you hear
Are the rusty breezes
Pushing around
The weather vane Jesus
In his Zippo lighter
He sees a k**er's face
Maybe it's someone
Standing in a k**er's place
Twenty years for nothing
Well that's nothing new
Besides, no ones intrested
In something you didn't do
Wheat kings and pretty things
Let's just see
What the morning brings
There's a dream he dreams
Where the high school
Is dead and stark
It's a museum
And we're all locked up in it
After dark
Where the walls
Are lined all yellow, grey and sinister
Hung with pictures
Of our parents' prime ministers
Wheat kings and pretty things
Wait and see what tomorrow brings
Late-breaking story on the CBC
A nations whispers
"We always knew that he'd go free"
They Add
"You can't be fond of living in the past,"
"Cause if you are"
"Then there's no way you're gonna last"
Wheat kings and pretty things
Let's just see what tomorrow brings
Wheat kings and pretty things
That's what tomorrow brings