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Tanner Merritt
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The Harvest
The Harvest.
My belly bleeds from crawling the earth at the heels of beggars and thieves,
While chemical thought runs through my veins.
A wire from pole to pole to bring me your weighted speech.
It falls upon deaf ears for I cannot hear you now,
Speak to me, speak to me.
For we are but men learning how to die
And youth is like spring-time but winter is in sight
So go ahead divide your grain; keep it in the cellar now
But when winter arrives, who will stuff your lifeless mouth?
So wait for grace to grab you by the throat,
And we'll sing 'Glory',
'Thy will be done over me'.
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