Old Adam - Hem

Old Adam, the crow

Is building a home in your field

Where bitterweeds grow

All around the corn

Will you be the father

That drives the thief from your home?

Or let him run wild

As your first born?

«Well I carried the plow

And carved out a home in this world

And I carried the bow

To protect the corn

Now the summer is over

My hands are tired and slow

And I can’t stop loving

My first born."

Old Adam, the crow

Is flying away from your field

And you’ll never know

What makes him run

«I dreamed of my father

Who drove me out of his home

And dreamt of forgiving

My wild son.»