In the fields of life, a harvest sometimes comes far out of season, when we thought the earth was old and could see no earthly reason to rise for work at break of dawn, and put our muscles to the test. With winter here and autumn gone, it just seems best to rest, to rest. But under winter fields so cold, wait the dormant seeds of seasons unborn, and so the heart does hold hope that heals all bitter lesions. In the fields of life, a harvest. ----------------------- Rush headlong and hard at life Or just sit at home and wait. All things good and all the wrong Will come right to you: its fate. Hear the music, dance if you can. Dress in rags or wear your jewels. Drink your choice, nurse your fear In this old honkytonk of fools.
