The Curling Fields

Oh Death
Hear my appeal
And take me from these curling fields

Born to a bitter man
A victim of his fate
A broken destiny
Was written on his face
You will toil
Work the soil
All your years
Son you'll see
You'll never leave
These curling fields

On empty stomachs
No breakfast to consume
The workers shuffle
Through the never-ending gloom
Wicked hoes to carve the rows
To please the mighty mitts
Dragging off the bounty to
The endless frying pits
Bloody soil, scalding oil
Mixed with tears
Life goes by, lift my cry
To deaf ears

Oh Death
Hear my appeal
And take me from these curling fields
Oh Death
Hear my appeal
And take me from these curling fields

Five generations lost
Five more yet to come
Disenfranchised
Crushed under his thumb
On mighty steeds
He oversees
A wasted land

My body's broken
I've got nothing left to weep
Trudge past the pastures
Where my ancestors now sleep
My severed finger
My twisted back
Laid upon the altar of
His all-consuming Hat
Lifetime gone
Pain drags on
Through the years

But there will come the one
Who frees us from our bonds
And rings the bell
A orphan born of hate
Will seal the masters' fate
The stories tell
In smoking peaks
He'll find your weakness
And the refuge of your soul
And he'll release us
To the sweetness of that
Never-ending toll

When death
Heeds our appeal
And breaks you on these curling fields