Folk song de 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 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 so blaze sun
watch until it dies slow falling from the sky
pale fading sun