I buried my heart out in a field,
Beneath an old oak tree.
I'll stop and visit it once in a while,
And tell it stories of me.
The life I live and places I've been,
All the best places to see.
The men and women who make up my life,
Who know a story or three.

I buried my heart out in a field,
Six feet beneath cold clay.
Deep enough to protect it from you,
Shallow enough to retrieve it one day.
To dig it up and check it for wear,
Protecting it from decay.
My poor heart is never safe,
With you never that far away.

I buried my heart out in a field,
Far from prying eyes.
Hiding the scars from my own sight,
Wrapping it up in lies.
I want to pretend that everything's fine;
That the pain's been cut down to size.
But that's not true, it's right near the surface,
As my one and only tear dries.

I buried my heart out in a field,
I did it for selfish reasons.
To shield it from this treacherous life,
And all its mercurial seasons.
The lies, the scars, the six feet of dirt,
Just a few more little treasons.
I buried my heart out in a field,
And I forgot to mark the spot