Harvest

Waiting in line to join the Divine Workaholics learn to entwine The dream with the cruel, harsh reality Of soils long harvested and cropped For sale on the black market Patience is an art long lost Savoring the sweet taste of haste is famous as of late Whispering sweet nothing's in our eager little ears As we wait to claim our holy gift We work for all these years We work for all these years I'm a vagabond so free Feeding every feral need Dreams of how it all should be Master of destiny And when the nightfall comes My tired eyes won't shut Without the graceful nod From all whom stand above me In my dimmest shimmer I will hold out hope For those who pine away I'm a vagabond so free Feeding every feral need Dreams of how it all should be Master of destiny