To The North

To The North To the north are the canefields, seas of waving green And then the fires come, and burn the water It's a sight to be seen The men in slouch hats reap the harvest Brown sticks they place in cages And then the trains hiss, they carry bounty From the furnace to the mill Stick men silhouettes bend against the flame, Shout above the crackle crunch. Watch as the ground spits at the sky A yellow-orange spit from a mouth that will never die