| G | Am | C | G |
| Verse 1: |
| G | Am | |
| We | ll I can't sleep with all these hand-me-downs |
| C | G | |
| Ba | ttered up chests and faded dreams |
| G | Am | |
| Ev | ery new life seems to spin away |
| C | G | |
| Li | ke sand escaping through the seams |
| Em | C | |
| Sen | d me a letter from Omaha |
| Am | G | |
| Sai | d a needle or thread could mend the tears |
| Em | |
| But tonight the cotton fields, they |
| C | |
| Smell like calico |
| Am | G | |
| And | the color of your hair |
| Verse 2: |
| Stars stand against the lonely blue |
| Like pin-pricks made by midnight hands |
| They tried to sew you a pure white dress |
| Got tied up in the misdeeds and demands |
| Cotton burned all brown and wasted |
| Like an innocence fell to disrepair |
| But tonight the ashes, they |
| Smell like calico |
| And the color of your hair |
| G | Am | C | G |
| Verse 3: |
| If I could have my one and only wish |
| I'd sew your hair all to the lining of my shirt |
| I'd stand in the noon day clean and golden |
| Not the color of the dry land dirt |
| Send me a letter from Omaha |
| Said a needle or thread could mend the tears |
| But tonight the sugarcane, it |
| Smells like calico |
| And the color of your hair |