You said that you'd go on your own
To harvest alone
But now you're on your way back home
The seeds have already been sown
The farmyard's filling up
The rabbit, the mouse, the deer, and the fox are sleeping
You spent all your silver and gold
You're sleeping alone
You think you can waltz back home
But you're no son of my own
These old barns shake with [?]
There are no clothes, no silver or gold for your return
Grind down the wheat in [?]
To make bread for your brothers tomorrow
Your crops they fall [?] in the snow
They'll be the bread for your brothers tomorrow
Grind down the wheat in [?]
To make bread for your brothers tomorrow
Your crops they fall [?] in the snow
You'll be the bread for your brothers