Lyrics
Crushing sane as the whitewash stains
Winter's coming, the church bells ring
Take your weariness and strife
Abandon hope for the ancient life
Sexless and single is no crime
Behold the richness of no dead time
One door ladies, one door men
Into hiding from the den
Of restless searching for gold coins
Which light no fires and make no joy
Good and simple, gentle wise
The darkest ones must stay outside
No more struggle for daily bread
No more wishing thee were dead
Behold the old ones up in the tree
Are budding flowers, brave and free
They point the way through deadest night
And hold thy hand and grant thee sight
When winter's over, ye may leave
Continue struggling, ye shall grieve
Remember us who quietly farm
When thy eyes lead thee to harm