Life On The Farm

They bled your piggybanks and maimed your pride,
The straws were finally dry enough to light,
When did the rats begin to bite your legs?
Try and grasp a few more tracts of life.

All those scarecrows burning?
All those scarecrows burning?

In the flames i watched the last geese fly,
The embers floating, as you cursed the light.
On broken knees you will make a prayer,
These burning bridges will not last the night.

Are those scarecrows burning?
Are those scarecrows burning?

Will i see them bleeding soon?
Like slaughtered hogs, burnt by the moon?