Song For A Windmill - Alan Hull, Ray Jackson, Ken Craddock

Standing in a field alone

Who was it who turned you into stone?

Who let your wooden cog wheels rot?

Who’ll not be coming back to make the wheat from the corn fields?

The miller, he has another job

He worketh in a factory to earn his weekly bob

There was a time before

When your sails played hopscotch with the wind

And your music was the soaring of

Fifty thousand revolutions on wings of nature’s making

But now your silent like your store

Your body is all breaking and just the rats call you home

Standing in a field alone

Who was it who turned you into stone?

Who let your wooden cog wheels rot?

Who’ll not be coming back to make the wheat from the corn fields?

The miller, he has another job

He worketh in a factory to earn his weekly bob