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The Last Bison
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Autumn Snow
We will sow
We will sow
For to bring the autumn snow
And our labor shall not
Be for us in vain
She will grow she will grow
For to make their dresses flow
Till she's seeded by the gin
Till the mistress weaves again
We will sow
We will sow
And she will grow
We will weave
We will weave
Until the Master has his sleeves
And for good measure
We'll clasp his snaps 'fore dawn
Never leave
Never leave
Until the unison's agreed
That she is no longer rough
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Like the hands that reap her up
We will weave
We will weave
And never leave
These blistered and
These calloused hands
Have done no work alone
We formulate
Then recreate
The patterns that we've sown
Foremost the gin
Then fibers spin
It's all we'll ever know
For are forebears
Have left us here
To reap the autumn snow
We will reap the autumn snow
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