Landscape Grown Cold Lyrics - John Hartford

The trees standing naked, 

the ground underfoot 

is a dark cellar, cool 

The battleship skies 

so heavy my shoulders droop 

it's a lean kind of day 

that I sometimes pass through 

The vines are like veins 

on the old village wall 

where the grass turns to white 

and way down the road 

I see smoke from another world 

in a room I'm not welcome, 

removed from my life 

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I sit in the ditch, 

and I dig in the sand 

with the heel of my sole 

sink down in my coat collar, 

back to the wind that blows 

insane by myself 

in a landscape grown cold 

the painted tin sign 

flaps back in the wind 

where the greenbottles lay 

and a window of boards 

facing hollow upon the dust, 

empty chairs sit in judgment, 

accusing the day 

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I sit in the ditch, 

and I dig in the sand 

with the heel of my sole 

sink down in my coat collar, 

back to the wind that blows 

insane by myself 

in a landscape grown cold