folk song

The Sundays

Summer sky and a throat bone dry
And the fields are all gold
Dusty lane with a song in my brain
And it stoned me to my soul

I climb higher move towards the fire.....blaze sun

Silver trees and a whispering breeze
Are my sight and my sound
The thought of heaven couldn?t drag me from the path
When I?m wandering here alone

I climb higher move towards the fire.... so blaze sun
Watch until it dies slow falling from the sky
Pale fading sun