His last sight was the barley dream
He paid the price for the seasons green
The cup was filled
His blood was spilled
It was the rite of the barley dream
I bore his sons
He called me wife
I bore the cup and I held the knife
We loved as one
In the setting sun
I gave him drink and I took his life
We laughed we loved as the wheel turned
Our lives were full and our passions burned
For seven years
We knew no tears
As the babies grew and the children learned
If the seed would grow then the stalk must fall
Rebirth through death is the fate of all
The body’s tomb
Is the mother’s womb
We need not run from the reaper’s call
His last sight was the barley dream
He paid the price for the seasons green
The cup was filled
His blood was spilled
It was the rite of the barley dream