In a open field at dusk
To footfalls I awoke
Marching ants acroos my temples, ooh
Their feet had no intention,
They followed some magnetic draw
Prisoners of their distenation

From the slats of the factory come
Where once they did make rails
Old debts, particular songs
He didn't know I was listening

So he crawled out nice and long
To the spiders, and the lumber,
And the dust of his conquest,
And his hunger, and his lust

I heared his fevered joys,
I heard him tap his cane as if
He had his own view
On stage at the F and M

I caught his words in my open mouth
I gaged and choked and spit them out
I heard him turn his heated ear (?),
My tiny heart beat in his ear
I was already running

Oh I heard him coming
Shrapnal spitting from his wheels
His sobbing arms rake for my heels
I know the knoll and hid my face
And I said these magic words

"My dove home, your breast is warm,
My dove is home"

I said these magic words,
"Fell down, now, the ant hill for days"

My dove is home, your breast is warm, my dove is home
My dove is home, your breast is warm, my dove is home