eighty year sleep
dreams of long ago
four hundred yellow daisies
plough the field

found a good city
good place for a life
so we thought in our youth
plough the field

plant good crops
the harvest will come
black harvest with its fruit
plough the field

same old ground
this earth grown cold
plough the field once more
there's nothing else

she says the sun will come
it will bring heat and daisies
it will warm our hearts
will it bake us into oblivion?