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There's a stubble field On which a black rain falls There is a tree which, brown, stands lonely here There's a hissing wind Which haunts deserted huts How sad, this evening Past the village pond: the gentle orphan, returning home Still gathers scanty ears of corn Golden and round Her eyes are gazing in the dusk And her throbbing lap awaits the bridegroom... returning home Shepherds found the sweet body Decayed in the bramble bush A shade... I am remote from sombre hamlets I drank from the woodland well The silence of God I can feel the touch of cold steel Spiders look for my heart There is a light that fails in my mouth On my forehead cold metal forms Spiders look for my heart There is a light that fails in my mouth I drank from the woodland well The silence of God From Letras Mania