parents had their hard times, fifty years ago When they stood out in these empty fields In dust as deep as snow And all this trouble in our fields If
I could Afford it to take me, it was far enough Mature you said at the wrong time Broke my aging skin 'cause age was mine Had a field day, smelt like roses Harvesting
are these totured screams?" and the Angel said unto me, "These are the Cries Of The Carrots. The Cries Of The Carrots, Y'see Reverend Maynard, tomorrow is Harvest
reap my harvest in heaven on that beautiful shore I'll plow a field up in Glory and live in peace evermore The world I leave to my neighbor till we meet at
[AMB 2x] Its the time for the harvest Time of the harvest Its the time of the harvest Your time [Bonez Dubb] My ride broke down on a mountain of dust
a farmer in his field at dusk With joy he bring a harvest in The pride he feels Is in the one he trusts and he offers thanks to Him Seasons change, barren fields
shoulder, hand to the plow Today is the day and the right time is now And the field is ready for the new reserve We will bring the harvest with a will
here Harvest moon A change in the weather I feel some evil here Harvest moon I hear some frightful noises I don't go out at night Harvest moon Since
The winter of fortynine had passed A winter of haunt n fear Hunger had knocked at the city-gates And threatened the pioneers Then low in the east strange
of the poet, the ink in the well (It's all written down in this age of reason) Fire at will Fire at will Fire at will
of a poet, the ink in the well (It's all written down in this age of reason) Fire at will, fire at will, fire at will
a world party You know, you know, you know, hey Pa, party Pa, pa, party This party's in the mountains And in the fields and on the shore At the bottom
pretty soon My field of dreams is lying fallow You've got a brand new start with a love in bloom I've got an empty heart and a harvest moon It's just
harvest. Lain weary on our gathered sheaves we cracked a vat of ale. Poured a toast; Began to boast of who could sup the hardest. Slumped in drunken slumber at
I've met that point in my life, want came to need Burn these fields of corn that surround My harvest gone at the price of maturity But these remains
dreaming fields But what will be my harvest now? Where every tear that falls on a memory feels Like rain on a rusted plow, rain on a rusted plow And these fields
in the new green shoots of a crop There was a wind in the wild rough grasses and a broad swelling heat when it stops Standin' at the edge of creation at
bones becoming flesh And these are the days of Your servant, David Rebuilding a temple of praise And these are the days of the harvest The fields are
