Rufus Wainwright

Scarecrow - in the Wyoming winter dawn.
Scarecrow - that silhouette I chanced upon,
fashioned with such flair, I'm sure we met somewhere.
Scarecrow, I know you.

Scarecrow - can it be who you longed to kiss,
Scarecrow - that left you hanging here like this?
Or who you'd yet to hold, in dreams you left untold?
Scarecrow, they're mine too. Scarecrow, I know you.

What penalty must we perform
for craving someone warm, somewhere upon this chilly planet?
A rifle butt against the head,
because we'd heard it said
that only God can make a man. It's true.
But only man can make a scarecrow out of you.
And only man can make a God who might approve.

Scarecrow - those who seek metaphor compare
Scarecrow - that other man left hanging there.
But it seems to me that comes too easily.
Scarecrow, this much is true. Scarecrow, I know you. Why, oh why Wyoming? Why, oh why Wyoming?
If we only had a heart. If we only had a brain. If we only had a chance again,
just a little chance again.

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