The blood red sun beat down and baked the red clay ground
Dust kicked up around his John Deere wheels
No trace of rain in sight, again he'll lose the fight
And have to watch his crops die in the fields
They stood there both in tears, his wife of many years
Said John, "You know I hate to lose our farm"
He looked into her eyes then looked up at the skies
And told her as he held her in his arms