Folk Song

Sundays

summer sky and a throat bone dry

and 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

pale fading sun