The Hot Breath of God

Heavy sky, harvest sun Turns the tallgrass brown This countryside is unyielding Crops wilted to the ground Stubborn plow bringing bliters On rough and calloused hands He wipes the hot sweat from his brow, The cultivator man. The house is dusty, there is no water No pot above the hearth The sun creeps closer down the heavens Mounting hate inside his heart. He takes the rifle from the closet Turns it over in his hands Only one slug in the chamber For the cultivator man The sunset is a wildfire Burning shadows on the floor Tax man comin' up the drive Now he's rappin' at the door The old man takes his last breath As the bullet leaves the bore.