Hand Me My Sickle

Hand me my sickle,

Too long I’m a knave,

My fingers are growing weary,

Of the purses I’ve mislaid.

It’s been a long, lonely winter,

With the field, white with snow.

Hand me my sickle,

Take me to the nave,

Said I’d repent when I was broken,

But I’ve been led astray.

 

It’s been a long, lonely winter,

With the fire, burning low.

 

Hand me my sickle,

The catacombs are lost,

This spell is undying,

I was born on the cross.

 

It’s been a long, lonely winter,

With the water, running slow.

 

So hand me my sickle,

Too long I’m a knave,

My conscience is growing dreary,

Of the persons I’ve betrayed.

 

It’s been a long, lonely winter,

With the field, white with snow.