Call to the fields, lay my body down
Cover me with clay and stone
And the rain will fall and find its way
Roll down the hill and over my grave
As the wind cuts through the pines
We’ll leave this all behind
Out in the wood, where the sun doesn’t shine
Tall timbers fall to the ground
And even if you shed a tear
The riverbed will still run dry
As the wind cuts through the pines
We’ll leave this all behind
Out on the street, you can hear the common man
Working his fingers to the bone
While on the hill they make the deals
And money is the only prize
As the wind cuts through the pines
We’ll leave this all behind
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