The Sundays - folk song

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