Wheatfields

Outside the wind is raging
Blowing the wheatfields all away
And now the game is changing
And now the rules are thrown away

And the cards are turning
And my mouth is dry
As her dress is falling
Before my eyes, my eyes, my eyes

And now the hands are turning
And now the clocks are changing
Beauty is on the matress
Lifting the patterns(?) from her skin

And the clothes are falling
And her dress's mine(?)
And her skin is holy
Like the sky, the sky, the sky

And our clothes are falling
And our mouths are dry
And our skin is holy
Like the sky, the sky, the sky

Outside the wind is raging
Blowing the wheatfields all away
And now the game is changing
And now the rules are thrown away

And now the rules are thrown away
And now the rules are thrown away
Away