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Dusty wooden wheels, old with age Bales hay stand still, scented with sage
The tired old moon rises slowly in the night sky It looks so lonely, she thought, twinkling like an child's eye.
Tonight the farm was hushed and tranquil Nothing dare move, instead lay quite still
Cattle shuffled around in their sleep All are dreaming now, even the sheep.
Once bright green tractors stood tall, proud, with a shiny logo on their right Now they too appear drowsy, as only lit by the mysterious, inky night
A sound breaks the silence and through the barn echoes a restful neigh This rusty old farm dreams on though, tucked away.
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