In a small field, there stands the father
With his son and his daughter
Last year here stood the mother
Daughter, son and father

Now the fear has gone, our storm [bad word] Father, daughter, son, this is the humans front

Proudly look forward to the harvest
Fear pushes away the good warm feeling
The fields burn fast in this season
The rich destroy what they can’t have

Now the fear has gone, our storm [bad word] Father, daughter, son, this is the humans front

The harvest moon is gone and again there is no seed
An empty ground, so pale and broken
Again the farmer takes his old scythe
But this time, man against man

Now the fear has gone, our storm [bad word] Father, daughter, son, this is the humans front