We'd Make Corn Rings Till The Day I Die Poem by Mark Heathcote

We'd make corn rings till the day I die
If I could be with you
If I could be with you - in a field of fire
In the eye of a hurricane
I'd chain my heart to a white-picket-fence
Before I bunker down the grain
"And listen to those wind chimes, commence".
Before I cook a Sunday roast.

Id listens to my lover's heart
Pound - pounding
And clinging,
Oh—I'd hold on to his long-dark-locks
All the way and I'd sing a little song,
With very few words

With very few words
But with plenty of flames
In a meadow of black crows
Oh, I've learned to fly in the eye of love.
And sing a pretty tune

Till up-above the clouds
The smoke of sinful wishes - clears my mind
Till the sun is in clear view
And the flowers bloom
With a mantle of dew
Oh—and I whistle some chorus
With a pot roast, just for you.

Oh I'll be clinging to his arms his limbs
Their strong appendage
In the eye of a hurricane
That will make my heart go blind
Oh If I could be with him
If I could be with him
We'd make corn rings till the day I die.