A straw man hanging on a stick, blowing ragged in the wind. A straw hat and torn jeans with a shirt full of dried grass. A smile painted on your face with buttons for eyes, not much to look at it would seem. You sit idly and watch the corn grow, hopefully scaring away a few old crows. As much as many might scorn you, you are good at one thing. When I want to talk you always listen and never ever complain. So I think of you often as the winter comes and you hang around in the cold and the snow. When I feel really lonely and need someone to listen, I know just where to go.