Harvest time

Because I'm a crushed person my love
I have to lay down gently 
and try to leave no trace
in the area I explore

My rage seems to have come to an end
I hold my tongue, learn to understand:
While summer is smouldering inside
autumn is sharpening It's knife

My body quenches you for a while
lures you from your narrow prison cell
To an area of mere shivering
that also captures me under my skin

In the meantime the harversters 
go nuts in the fields
And in the barns the wooden flails
go up, and down
Because nothing escapes the rules