ROBERT WYATT


Masters Of The Field Lyrics

Up above gathered on a field of clouds,
Crowded a lot down in the lowlands,
Waiting for their time.
Waiting and calling, calling out for rain
To leave the skies down in the lowlands.
Masters of the field.

Wings wind set in the teeth of the wind
The old beasts feathered wild beasts
Masters of the field.

Eagle dancers, wings that shape the wind,
Carving the clouds into spirit.
Sufis of the air.

Dervish dancers summoning the sun
To tint the mist down on the lowlands.
Masters of the field.

Old beasts, feathered, wild beasts,
Masters of the field.

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Songwriter(s): Bruno Coulais, Gabriel Yacoub

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