Dulce Indie Rock

Well that Dulce creek don’t run just like it used to

They clear the land to make room for the grain

They work the fields and plant the corn like they ought to

And every Sunday spent, praying for the rain

This little town is blowing in the wind

The oilfield got the farmers

The city took all my friends

I’m still here with you

Don’t know what else to do

Still hoping that the good times, can find their way home again.

That old lake’s been down below the mark for so long

I can’t quite remember how to catch a fish

My golf game, well, it’s more than a little gone

If I could find my lucky star, I think I’d make a wish

Yeah, this little town is blowing in the wind

The oilfield got the farmers

The city took all my friends

I’m still here with you

Don’t know what else to do

Still hoping that the good times, can find their way home again.

Well that Dulce creek don’t run just like it used to

They clear the land to make room for the grain

They work the fields and plant the corn like they ought to

And every Sunday spent, praying for the rain.