there's a frost on the field
a tax on the yield
and a hand in your pocket
with the days gone dark
a loss in your heart
and a pit in your stomach
would you turn against the grain?
you sowed the seed
despite the salt
some glutton's greed
you played your part
your home and hearth
it falls apart
could you turn and face the grain?
you sowed the seed
despite the salt
some glutton's greed
you played your part
your home and hearth
you play your part until we give the signal
this is our harvest
this is the fruits we bear
siloed for a profit
or dying on the vine
isn't this our harvest?
isn't this our feast to share?
wiser ones are asking themselves
who's swinging the scythe?
there's a pox on the land
the manor demands
but the sickle is in your hand
the sickle is in your hand
this is our harvest
this is the fruits we bear
siloed for a profit
or dying on the vine
isn't this our harvest?
isn't this our feast to share?
wiser ones are asking themselves
am I swinging this scythe for someone else?