Nebraska Catfish

Walking along the tracks
There’s no trains a-comin' through Nebraska
Prairie sun on the rails like a knife cuttin' out a slice
Checkin' catfish lines tossed in the Platte
Dark and muddy
What’s on the other end
I don’t know til I give it a tug…
I don’t know til I give it a tug…
I don’t know til I give it a tug…
So many hidden things, they leave their trails
They leave their marks
You can see them in the faces walkin' down the street
Mid February
I don’t know their names, I don’t know their stories
But I know the tug that pulls and fights
Oh, here they are in the current moving upstream
set, and it’s not coming out…
set, and it’s not coming out…
set, and it’s not coming out…
Not coming out…
Walking along the tracks
There’s no trains a-comin' through Nebraska
The boy sits on the grass in the shelter-belt
Oh, the corn fields are checkered out
Their lines are broken, their lines are broken
Every stalk’s an amputee
Aw shucks…
The wind makes the cottonwoods creak
The limbs are fallin', limbs are fallin'
There’s a storm a-comin, can you feel the tug?
Can you feel the tug?
What’s still submerged
It makes the twigs dance, makes the snow-fence howl
It’s a song it’s a dance,
It’s a catfish still alive on the line…
I don’t know til I give it a tug…
set, and it’s not coming out…
I don’t know til I give it a tug…
set, and it’s not coming out…