A whistling girl Among his flock of sheep In a flow of words Lay breathing backward rest assured Of Elijah and God's birds It will fall to us It will fall to us Inside the home the folk pine grow Where hearts are fire sparks are thrown It is all that glitters This terrible weakness It falls to us It falls to us From his holy hill And it falls to us Yes it falls to us By his perfect will Through the open windows of the soul tonight His yoke is easy and his burden light Kiss the sun lest he be angry And you perish in the way The rivers of the sky are dry And rolled up like a scroll Down below we tend to the forgetting Forgetting what we know The sun slips from your shoulder As you enter in the wood Without thought of thorns Without thought of thorns And it falls to us It falls to us From his holy hill It will falls to us Yes it falls to us By his perfect will Through the open windows of your soul tonight His yoke is easy and his burden light Kiss the sun lest he be angry And you perish in the way