the tragically hip
wheat kings
Sundown in the Paris of the prairies wheat kings have all their treasures buried And all you hear are the rusty breezes pushing Around the weather vane Jesus  In his Zippo lighter, he sees the killer's face maybe It's someone standing in a killer's place twenty years for nothing, well that's Nothing new, besides, no one's interested in something you didn't do Wheat kings and pretty things, let's just see what the morning brings  There's a dreamy dream where the high school is dead and stark it's a museum And we're all locked up in it after dark where the walls Are lined all yellow, grey and sinister hung With pictures of our parents' prime ministers wheat kings and pretty things Wait and  see what tomorrow brings  Late breaking story on the CBC, a nation whispers, "We always knew that he'd go free" they add, "you can't be fond of living in The past, 'cause if you are then there's no way that you're gonna last" Wheat kings and pretty things Let's just see what tomorrow bring Wheat kings and pretty things Oh, that's what tomorrow brings