On the winnow fields
They beheld the gate
Trembling with fear
And afraid to forfeit
Anxiously
They clinged to table scrabs
As if to aver
Their deprivation
And the swine crowed round
The shining lot of pearls
With empty hands
The high king reigns
Nothing but light
The raven flies
A fool is the slave
Who fears not his fetters
But watches over them with jealousy
On the winnow fields
They beheld their lives
Paralysed with fear
In the presence of the Vergobret
So they cherished
Doctrines of denial
And wallowed
In poor men's tales
And the swine crowed round
The shining lot of pearls
Just like the vultures
Grave cadaveric flesh
With empty hands
The high king reigns
Nothing but light
The raven flies
With empty hands
The high king reigns
Nothing but light
The raven flies
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