Wheatfields

Outside the wind is raging, blowing the Wheatfields away

And now the game is changing, and now the rules are thrown away

And the cards are turning, and my mouth is dry

As her dress is falling before my eyes, my eyes

My eyesAnd now the hands are turning, and now the clocks are changing

Beauty is on the mattress, lifting the patterns from her skin

And the clothes are falling, and her breast is mine

And her skin is holy, like the sky, like the sky

The skyAnd the clothes are falling, and our mouths are dry

And our skin is holy, like the sky, like the sky

The skyOutside the wind is raging, blowing the Wheatfields away

And now the game is changing, and now the rules are thrown away

And now the rules are thrown away