Tree Grains of Sand


The wheat has ripened.
the summer's o'er.
I have a letter,
I am called to war.
x2

Farewell, my darling,
my children three.
I have this letter,
I'm no longer free.
x2

Oh, mother, take
a handful of sand.
Scatter it all
on the rockiest land.
x2

And when that sand
sprouts green from the stone-
that's when our father
will be coming home.
x2

e/- / , : -

, ̳

- MP3