The Scythe

End of the day at the end of the harvest
With the sun goin down
End of the row with last one behind us
And the last sheaf is bound
Yet over and over, before sleep takes my eyes
Over and over, i see the flash of the scythe — comin down
Light up a candle to see in the old way
With the sun goin down
Don’t quite understand how it burns up a whole day
Without making a sound
In some flinch of your shoulder,
Some look in your eye
I see the fear of disorder,
The fear of the scythe — comin down
Sharp is the blade that can cut through the twilight
With the sun going down
It cuts through the days and the change in our own life
Til your last comes around
Everything changes, everything dies
In a teary reflection, i see the glint of the scythe…