Standing in a field alone
Who was it who turned you into stone ?
Who let your wooden cog wheels rot ?
Who'll not be coming back to make the wheat from the corn fields ?
The miller, he has another job
He worketh in a factory to earn his weekly bob
There was a time before
When your sails played hopscotch with the wind
And your music was the soaring of
Fifty thousand revolutions on wings of nature's making
But now your silent like your store
Your body is all breaking and just the rats call you home
Standing in a field alone
Who was it who turned you into stone ?
Who let your wooden cog wheels rot ?
Who'll not be coming back to make the wheat from the corn fields ?
The miller, he has another job
He worketh in a factory to earn his weekly bob
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