Fields - 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