Ogallala
where our great fields lie
stretched vast to the sky in rows
grain and grass grows
higher than our hats and far away
from lake or river
Ogallala
wet our tongues
let our harvest rise
tales were told to parties
passing through these parts
God hid a sacred sea
within His planet's belly
reached and deeply yearned for
Ogallala
wet our tongues
let our harvest rise
underneath fiery sun
and rainless summer sky
we do not starve, we do not thirst
for the miraculous place
of our subterranean waters
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