The wind's picking at the chapped skin of the land
The moon reaches down with a menacing hand
To strangle the creeks and the rivers for plotting against him
The slumberers paddle through the shallowest sleeps
Rolling and moaning they throw off their sheets
And sip tepid water 'till dawn lets itself in the window
The neighbourhood watchdogs have let down their guard
Lying there panting on dirty blond yards
With a heaving of lungs and a lolling of tongues for a warning
All the workaholics line up to give blood
Chattering, chewing, and sipping their mud
Till they pour out the door and trickle and bead to the punchclocks
Tonight we pray for rain
Tonight we pray for rain
To tiptoe and tapdance
To wrestle and romance the dust from the desolate plain
Tonight we pray for rain
To wrestle and romance the dust from the desolate plain
A trucker is waiting for his tank to fill
He picks at the insects entoumbed in his grill
He senses an irony, but he can't pin it down
He clocks his way back to his comfortable seat
Gets about thirty clicks till his truck overheats
But this time the irony won't be lost on him
Tonight we pray for rain
Tonight we pray for rain
To tiptoe and tapdance
To wrestle and romance the dust from the desolate plain
Tonight we pray for rain
To wrestle and romance the dust from the desolate plain