There's a story told of two lovers
Who crept away to a similar field
On a moonless night
As they slept they were beheaded

The scythe comes down, swings around
Protect your fingers and toes
Now is the time when the field mouse loses his tail
And his meal
The reaping time, our abundance
The Corn King dies

So count your joys and your blessings
Be thankful it's not your turn
Treat this year as a gift
It could be your last