From the recording White Picket Fence

Live Frank Barter at KPFA Berkeley California


All alone on a Kansas backroad
Tonight I see the stars on fire
No one's on the road tonight
I'm fearing the darkness of my desire

The next town will only grow when I get there
For all I know it's only there for me to see
The townsfolk wearing the same faces
As in my old photographs
And the wheatfields surround them
In constant swaying

The sky looks so dark tonight
I touch the stars and try to turn back time
My words pour from a broken mask
From the sad faces who live in the town

Out here I see the desperate corpses
Of the frontier men
Running around blinded by the hope taken
Out of their eyes
The stumble and fall westward
Without a sound
And the wheatfields surround them
In constant swaying

Somewhere tonight a poet
Is painting a picture
In his mind I know he sees
What I saw tonight
He's sitting in a room
In a broken house without a sound
And the Wheatfields surround him
In constant swaying