A worried man, I stand alone outside my farm and family
home.
And there I raise my bloodshot eyes and gaze upon a
parchment sky.
My handy work had turned to dust so all my faith in God
I thrust.
Now, to tha sky this worried man’s cryin’…
I said…
Chorus:
“Lord, I’m prayin’ for that rollin’ thunder”.
“Lord, I’m under a mountain of sand”.
“Lord, I’m prayin’ for that rollin’ thunder”.
And I wonder, can you heal my land?
The wind has spurned the land so hard, majestic fields
of wheat lay charred.
And through this desert camouflage, to me appeared a
cruel mirage
of water from a mountain spring…an end to all my
suffering.
No mercy and no favor earned. My cattle culled and my
bushes burned.
Chorus:
“Lord, I’m prayin’ for that rollin’ thunder”.
“Lord, I’m under a mountain of sand”.
“Lord, I’m prayin’ for that rollin’ thunder”.
And I wonder, can you heal my land?
If God demands a sacrifice, tell me. What’s his asking
price?
To the land, I pledged my life. But Abraham with his
killin’ knife
has come and claimed this prairie son in the heartland
of Saskatchewan.
A farmer earns a livin’ or dies for tryin’.
Chorus:
“Lord, I’m prayin’ for that rollin’ thunder”.
“Lord, I’m under a mountain of sand”.
“Lord, I’m prayin’ for that rollin’ thunder”.
And I wonder, can you heal my land?
