Fields Lyrics
| Song | Fields |
| Artist | Hammers of Misfortune |
| Album | Fields / Church of Broken Glass |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| Sing us a song, a song called how did it all go wrong | |
| Sing even though we haven't spoken for oh so long | |
| Sing for tongues are encumbered by their own eyes | |
| And weary of leering, twisting and winding from side to side | |
| Pray give us fields with bountiful yields for the coming frost | |
| Teach us to toil, the lore of the soil that we have lost | |
| Spare us alas for our seasons have sown only great expectations and rust | |
| Only in labor and sun-beaten backs can we place our trust | |
| Show us the field and weapons to wield for the coming war | |
| Let us redress celestial sentence we've waited for | |
| Trenches or furrows, soldier or harvester, sword or ploughshare | |
| A field and a summer, one or another, we're buried there | |
| Spin us a yarn of common place charm oh so far away | |
| Rustic emotion, artless devotion, naiveté | |
| Give us a game, the rules and the fools who refuse to play | |
| Smash our defenses with endless editions of yesterday |
| Sing us a song, a song called how did it all go wrong | |
| Sing even though we haven' t spoken for oh so long | |
| Sing for tongues are encumbered by their own eyes | |
| And weary of leering, twisting and winding from side to side | |
| Pray give us fields with bountiful yields for the coming frost | |
| Teach us to toil, the lore of the soil that we have lost | |
| Spare us alas for our seasons have sown only great expectations and rust | |
| Only in labor and sunbeaten backs can we place our trust | |
| Show us the field and weapons to wield for the coming war | |
| Let us redress celestial sentence we' ve waited for | |
| Trenches or furrows, soldier or harvester, sword or ploughshare | |
| A field and a summer, one or another, we' re buried there | |
| Spin us a yarn of common place charm oh so far away | |
| Rustic emotion, artless devotion, naivete | |
| Give us a game, the rules and the fools who refuse to play | |
| Smash our defenses with endless editions of yesterday |
| Sing us a song, a song called how did it all go wrong | |
| Sing even though we haven' t spoken for oh so long | |
| Sing for tongues are encumbered by their own eyes | |
| And weary of leering, twisting and winding from side to side | |
| Pray give us fields with bountiful yields for the coming frost | |
| Teach us to toil, the lore of the soil that we have lost | |
| Spare us alas for our seasons have sown only great expectations and rust | |
| Only in labor and sunbeaten backs can we place our trust | |
| Show us the field and weapons to wield for the coming war | |
| Let us redress celestial sentence we' ve waited for | |
| Trenches or furrows, soldier or harvester, sword or ploughshare | |
| A field and a summer, one or another, we' re buried there | |
| Spin us a yarn of common place charm oh so far away | |
| Rustic emotion, artless devotion, naiveté | |
| Give us a game, the rules and the fools who refuse to play | |
| Smash our defenses with endless editions of yesterday |
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