Fields of Progeny

An old melody that I tried to learn

When I gave myself over to it

Learned every step, and my efforts were met

When it rang and it told and it sang

The rattle on strings and familiar rings

If the line is a chain passed in ink

Then each fiddler that played is another that stayed

To turn himself into a link

And he’s still up here somewhere I think

And I hear the old voices singing

This song will never end

It was here long ago and continues to grow

In the fields of progeny

In the fields of progeny

Where is the culture, you ask, I don’t know

And when is the future, you ask, I don’t know

Is it locked in the ice, is it under the frost

I can hardly hear the heart beating

But it’s under the snow I suppose

And where is the history, and where is the memory

Where is the language that I used to know

Is it locked in the ice, is it under the frost

I can hardly hear the heart beating

But it’s under the snow I suppose

And I hear the old voices singing

This song will never end

It was here long ago and continues to grow

In the fields of progeny

In the fields of progeny