We walked October through the maze
To see the harvest home.
The air was thick with autumn's breath,
The scent of corn and loam.
The rooster crew the winter down,
The frost obscured the ground.
And now the hour is come at last
To turn the year around...
Walk me down the scarecrow trail,
Black-winged mother of the crows;
Help me see beyond the veil
Learn the things that no one knows.
In their hats and hand-me-downs
They stand watchful in the field;
As the greens give way to browns,
Still the scarecrows never yield...
Bring me to the harvest, to the cotton and the corn.
Spread your wings and show me quick, before November's born.
Take me to the farmer's door,
Bright-eyed mother of the crows;
Let the grain fall on the floor,
Let the chaff catch on my clothes.
Set the scythe against the grain,
Race the cold as night descends.
Set the pattern, make it plain.
When we're done, we'll make amends...
Bring me to the harvest, to the cotton and the corn.
Spread your wings and show me quick, before November's born.
Give me leave to light the way,
Bird-wise mother of the crows;
There are laws we must obey,
Certain ways this story goes.
Let me carve the pumpkin's face,
Light the candle, dare the dark.
We who fly must know our place,
Let the winter make its mark...
Bring me to the harvest, to the cotton and the corn.
Spread your wings and show me quick, before November's born.
Help me find the proper path,
Be my mother of the crows;
Through the corn and through the chaff,
Though the wind of winter blows.
Guide my feet and guide me true,
Keep me turning to the right.
If I can keep faith with you,
We may make it through this night...
Bring me to the harvest, to the cotton and the corn.
Spread your wings and show me quick, before November's born.
We walked October through the maze
To see the harvest home.
The air was thick with autumn's breath,
The scent of corn and loam
To see the harvest home.
The air was thick with autumn's breath,
The scent of corn and loam.
The rooster crew the winter down,
The frost obscured the ground.
And now the hour is come at last
To turn the year around...
Walk me down the scarecrow trail,
Black-winged mother of the crows;
Help me see beyond the veil
Learn the things that no one knows.
In their hats and hand-me-downs
They stand watchful in the field;
As the greens give way to browns,
Still the scarecrows never yield...
Bring me to the harvest, to the cotton and the corn.
Spread your wings and show me quick, before November's born.
Take me to the farmer's door,
Bright-eyed mother of the crows;
Let the grain fall on the floor,
Let the chaff catch on my clothes.
Set the scythe against the grain,
Race the cold as night descends.
Set the pattern, make it plain.
When we're done, we'll make amends...
Bring me to the harvest, to the cotton and the corn.
Spread your wings and show me quick, before November's born.
Give me leave to light the way,
Bird-wise mother of the crows;
There are laws we must obey,
Certain ways this story goes.
Let me carve the pumpkin's face,
Light the candle, dare the dark.
We who fly must know our place,
Let the winter make its mark...
Bring me to the harvest, to the cotton and the corn.
Spread your wings and show me quick, before November's born.
Help me find the proper path,
Be my mother of the crows;
Through the corn and through the chaff,
Though the wind of winter blows.
Guide my feet and guide me true,
Keep me turning to the right.
If I can keep faith with you,
We may make it through this night...
Bring me to the harvest, to the cotton and the corn.
Spread your wings and show me quick, before November's born.
We walked October through the maze
To see the harvest home.
The air was thick with autumn's breath,
The scent of corn and loam