(Bob Hoffnar/Dan Messe)



Old Adam the crow

He's building a home in your field

Where bitter weeds grow all around the corn

Will you be the father

That drives the thief from your home

Or let him run wild at your first born



Now I carried the plow

To carve out a home in this world

And I carried the bow to protect the corn

Summer is over

My hands are tired and slow

And I can't stop loving my first born



Old Adam the crow

He's flying away from your field

And you will never know what makes him run

I dreamed of my father

Who drove me out of his home