Fertile Fields

sometimes those simple things won't turn the trick

no more and our self-important dreams they all

lie shattered on the floor even the proletariat

receives his royalty and as the battle rages

on and on i wish it wasn't me

and it seems so cruel the last one

breaking up until the winter finds it's worth

as we glide upon the earth now the

trees are swept aside by wind and sheets

of rain and the fertile fields once gilded

have now withered and refrained she who longs

for comfort feels instead a savage thrust and

the ashen sky grows ever darker as dawn

gives way to dust as we set our

dogs upon the earth feast on the dead

until no life remains forward towards a pointless

end we squander never gain