Sundown in the Paris of the prairies
Wheat kings have all treasures buried
And all you hear are the rusty breezes
Pushing around the weathervane 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 dream he dreams where the high schools 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 parent's 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 brings
Wheat kings and pretty things
Ah, that's what tomorrow brings