boys and girls will see in time that they were wrong to go fires don t burn at home like they used to burn those nights grew so long the scattering will come again no seeds to fall no sons to blame as one by one they left home tired old men spin tales of when a man could work and hold his head up high ghosts roam this town with pockets full of rye they d all fall down but soon their jars all ran dry the scattering will come again no seeds to fall no sons to blame as one by one they left home the scattering has come again no seeds to fall like better days the scattering has come again but if skies could fall with harvest rain then one by one they ll come home