These Canadian plains
And their windblown hair
Jane the bruise colored clouds
 The smell of the ground
 In the ripening air

I have seen you
 In your fluttering dress
And your dry face of steel
As you're dragging your red rowing boat
 Cross the forever fields

 See Jane something's gone dead
Inside my head
 There's nothing but fear
 Jane the rivers of grief
 The tears of relief
 Seem ages from here

 Sometimes the beauty of life
 Hits like lightening washing everything
clear
And these dimmers of doubt flicker
Fade out and disappear

 But Jane that is a luxury
There are those of little faith it seems
 And they beg for truth like charity
 And I see them on every street corner

They are holding out one righteous hand
While the other leads the marching band
 In the shadow hymn of the scratchman
 Heed the message, kill the messenger

 Jane I heard you found love
 Wriggling up from the mud
On the shores of Granville
But Jane in the wink of an eye
 The naysayers fly
Like hounds at your heels

Jane they'll whisper your name
And you won't feel the chains
 And you won't see the moss
Oh, Jane there's an art to the game
 The aesthetics of love
The athletics of loss

Sometimes someone drifts by
And our nets get entwined in the sea
 And in time I might find
 They still mean something to me

 But Jane that is a luxury
 There are those of little faith in me
And they pull me down like gravity
 And I see them on every street corner

 They are masters in the sleight of hand
They are dancers and they step so grand
 To the shibboleth of Shadowland
 Heed the message, kill the messenger