Sundown in the Paris of the prairies wheat kings have all their treasures buried
And all you hear are the rusty breezes pushing
Around the weather vane Jesus

In his Zippo lighter, he sees the killer's face maybe
It's someone standing in a killer's place twenty years for nothing, well that's
Nothing new, besides, no one's interested in something you didn't do
Wheat kings and pretty things, let's just see what the morning brings

There's a dreamy dream where the high school is dead and stark it's a museum
And we're all locked up in it after dark where the walls
Are lined all yellow, grey and sinister hung
With pictures of our parents' prime ministers wheat kings and pretty things
Wait and see what tomorrow brings

Late breaking story on the CBC, a nation whispers,
"We always knew that he'd go free" they add, "you can't be fond of living in
The past, 'cause if you are then there's no way that you're gonna last"
Wheat kings and pretty things
Let's just see what tomorrow bring
Wheat kings and pretty things
Oh, that's what tomorrow brings

Copyright: Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Writer(s): BILL LOUBOROUGH, DAVID WHEAT