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Alan Hull
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Song for a Windmill
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
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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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