The fields are overturnednThe skies all been burntnI am feeling rather strangennShamans drunk on whiskeynPrincesses bred for fiftynI feel a little colder every daynnMother I'm not safenYou'll find me buried in the fieldsnWith buffalo murdered for gamennMother will you saynThat I'm dressed up for the killnAnd there's something slowly wasting me awaynnYou are my only friendnYou are my wasted angelnAnd like before, you mean much more to mennYou are my coming endnYou are my jaded fablenAnd like before, you mean much more to me