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



Credits
Writer(s): James Newton Howard, Chris P. Bacon
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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