Fields - Lyrics - Hammers Of Misfortune

Sing us a song, a song called how did it all go wrong Sing even though we haven't spoken for oh so long Sing for tongues are encumbered by their own eyes And weary of leering, twisting and winding from side to side Pray give us fields with bountiful yields for the coming frost Teach us to toil, the lore of the soil that we have lost Spare us alas for our seasons have sown only great expectations and rust Only in labor and sun-beaten backs can we place our trust Show us the field and weapons to wield for the coming war Let us redress celestial sentence we've waited for Trenches or furrows, soldier or harvester, sword or ploughshare A field and a summer, one or another, we're buried there Spin us a yarn of common place charm oh so far away Rustic emotion, artless devotion, naiveté Give us a game, the rules and the fools who refuse to play Smash our defenses with endless editions of yesterday