We'd Make Corn Rings Till The Day I Die

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.