Dry Jon

You probably think that every dry spell has an end
It isn't like that everywhere
There is a land of ashes south of the river
Where Jon attended county faire
The skinny locals sold potatoes and brown water
And Jon was peddling his brooms
A hundred-thousand acre mother of a nation
Now the dust was rising from her womb
What I wouldn't give for a nice cold glass of sand
But when I pick it up, it's boiling in my hand
And if I ever get the nerve, I'm gonna change it all
I'll summon clouds, and it will rain

The faire was held at the sight of an ancient grove
A legacy of walnut hulls
But the trees are gone, and nothing stops the searing wind
From burning the hair and flesh from skulls
But they're raising children charred like the barrel of my gun
I can empathize with the surface of the sun
And if I ever get the nerve, I'm gonna change it all
I'll summon clouds, and it will rain

Well, the day may come when they see a storm cloud bust
It'll be after they plant me in the dust
And if I ever get the nerve, I'm gonna change it all
I'll summon clouds, and it will rain

Sometime in the night the wind began to blow
It made no difference to Jon
He was fast asleep by the time the clouds began to form
And in the morning they were gone