The working of a tired hand
wont do much justice to the land,
wont do much justice to the land,
It wont beautifully mend the gold
nor will it really move a soul ,
The pale working hand we see
Has something to reveal ,
It speaks about its gravest fears
Will it manage to feed me this year?
nor will it really move a soul ,
The pale working hand we see
Has something to reveal ,
It speaks about its gravest fears
Will it manage to feed me this year?
All these feelings hovered up
It continues to paint the shimering steel ,
Covered with paint all over here
It tries to catch up with the real world ,
Lost in his thoughts of great victory
He compels himself to work a bit more
But thinks aloud , HOW much more ?
It continues to paint the shimering steel ,
Covered with paint all over here
It tries to catch up with the real world ,
Lost in his thoughts of great victory
He compels himself to work a bit more
But thinks aloud , HOW much more ?
Saddened by his tired effort ,
His trembling hand counts his share ,
He sits beside all his ware .....and rests there
His trembling hand counts his share ,
He sits beside all his ware .....and rests there