Folk Song - The Sundays

Summer sky and a throat bone dry

and all the fields are all gold

dusty lane with a song in my brain

and it stoned me to my soul

I climb higher move towards the fire

blaze sun

silver trees and a whispering breeze

are my sight and my sound

the thought of heaven couldn’t drag me from the path

when I’m wandering here alone

I climb higher move towards the fire

so blaze sun

watch until it dies slow falling from the sky

place fading sun