The Threshingfloor Songtext

von Wovenhand

Look who's fan is in his hands
Upon the ground of sifting?
Instruments with teeth
A place for the called for
We call it the floor into the air
In this time of threshing

Bara devlam
Davlam bara
Devlam bara
Istenem

By the hooves of beasts
Round this winnowing pile
Golden sheaves
The gleaming plain for miles
Lift up your iron heel
Spin Ezekiel's wheel

Him the lord of hosts
Him the lord of hosts
Him the lord of hosts
Him the lord of hosts

Him the lord of hosts
Him the lord of hosts
Him the lord of hosts
Him the lord of hosts

Every secret sin
On and of this earth
Grows fierce from the ground
Instruments with teeth
Instruments with teeth
Cut them down

Look who's fan is in his hands
Upon the ground of sifting