Patti Smith- Birdland

His father died and left him a little farm in New England. All the long black funeral cars left the scene And the boy was just standing there alone Looking at the shiny red tractor Him and his daddy used to sit inside And circle the blue fields and grease the night. It was if someone had spread butter on all the fine points of the stars ’Cause when he looked up they started to slip. Then he put his head in the crux of his arm And he started to drift, drift to the belly of