On a hot summer's day

That tips into fall

The leaves seem to pray

And I feel small

Locust and Oak, Locust and Oak

Radiates from the brick

Of banks and bureaus

The sun burns up the wick

Of the shade they impose

Locust and Oak, Locust and Oak

Bare but for the sound

Of branches and bark

Stretches out the hard ground

They make their remark

Locust and Oak, Locust and Oak