The farmer talks to God
I reaped your crop with my scythe,
I watered your vineyard with my sweat;
it is dark, now: light up the stars.
With my silence I worshipped the grapes and grass
the scythes, the cow and the cellar.
Towards you now my eyes are open wide.
With the plough your fields I have already furrowed,
with your finger my face you have already lined.
At my table there's a place waiting for you:
sit down now and share my food with me.
Later you will receive what I owe you
and your will be done.