jane it sure looks like rain these canadian plains and their windblown hair oh jane the bruise colored clouds the smell of the ground in the ripening air i have seen you in your fluttering dress and your dry face of steel as you re dragging your red rowing boat cross the forever fields see jane something s gone dead inside my head there s nothing but fear jane the rivers of grief the tears of relief seem ages from here sometimes the beauty of life hits like lightning washing everything clear and these dimmers of doubt flicker fade out and disappear but jane that is a luxury there are those of little faith it seems and they beg for truth like charity and i see them on every street corner they are holding out one righteous hand while the other leads the marching band in the shadow hymn of the scratchman heed the message kill the messenger oh jane i heard you found love wriggling up from the mud on the shores of granville oh but jane in the wink of an eye the naysayers fly like the hounds at your heels oh jane they ll whisper your name and you won t feel the chains you won t see the moss oh jane there s an art to the game the aesthetics of love the athletics of loss sometimes someone drifts by and our nets get entwined in the sea and in time i might find they still mean something to me  but jane that is a luxury there are those of little faith in me and they pull me down like gravity and i see them on every street corner they are masters in the sleight of hand they are dancers and they step so grand to the shibboleth of shadowland heed the message kill the messenger1