You said that you'd go on your own To harvest alone But now you're on your way back home The seeds have already been sown The farmyard's filling up The rabbit, the mouse, the deer, and the fox are sleeping You spent all your silver and gold You're sleeping alone You think you can waltz back home But you're no son of my own These old barns shake with [?] There are no clothes, no silver or gold for your return Grind down the wheat in [?] To make bread for your brothers tomorrow Your crops they fall [?] in the snow They'll be the bread for your brothers tomorrow Grind down the wheat in [?] To make bread for your brothers tomorrow Your crops they fall [?] in the snow You'll be the bread for your brothers